Parallel Lovers
by mindpalace hell charlottesweb
Summary: This is a johnlock, Danny and Alex Story
1. Chapter 1

"A double date, John, are you serious?" Sherlock asked as he paced around John like a hungry predator.

John let Sherlock encircle him for a few moments and then reached out and grabbed Sherlock's arms. "Sherlock, stop you're making me dizzy. It would be just a causal thing. After all the guy is just an acquaintance that I met in a tea shop while buying your fancy biscuits. He and his partner have just started dating and well Danny is having trouble breaking the ice."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and then flopped down in a chair. "And you're assuming that I care because?"

John laughed and then kneeled down in front of Sherlock, caressing his legs. "Come on Sherlock, please."

Sherlock's eyes focused on John's hands as he said, "Fine, Doctor after all you unthawed me just fine."

John rested his chin on Sherlock's knee. "Yes, my ice man has unthawed quite nicely."

Sherlock chucked making his chest vibrate in a low hum as he ruffled John's hair. "Yes, perhaps the name of your new blog post should be 'The Iceman Cometh,'" Sherlock said as John edged closer.

John fixated on Sherlock's lips as he said, "He is certainly going to. In fact, I predict that it will be in the next few moments."

Sherlock's body shot out of the chair in a swift movement that made John yelp as he fell backwards. Pinning John's body on the ground Sherlock took a handful of hair and kissed John. His tongue demanded entrance. John sighed as Sherlock whispered, "We'll just have to see which one of us cometh first."

John moved his hips underneath Sherlock, both of them knowing that John could flip him on his backside if he so desired. "Bring it on," John growled as he grasped Sherlock's forearms.

Sherlock held John's head in between his hands and began to nibble at John's lower lip as he said, "Be careful what you ask for, Doctor."

A few hours later John and Sherlock sat in a pub waiting for Danny and Alex to arrive. "Now, Sherlock when they get here, they'll be none of your analyzing out loud. Okay?"

Sherlock looked down at John and said, "Fine, but the evening is already starting to bore me."

John nudged Sherlock under the table. "Hush, here comes Danny now. If you're a very good boy I promise I will consider the proposition that you put before me earlier in the day."

Sherlock licked his lips as he said, "You mean the heels etc.?"

"Yes," John hissed.

Before Sherlock could reply Danny approached the table. After John made the introductions Sherlock suffered through a few rounds of small talk until Alex arrived.

When Danny spotted Alex he motioned him to their table and then came another round of introductions. "This is Alex, he's an investment banker." Danny said as he moved over so that Alex could sit closer to him.

Sherlock's bright eyes gleamed with excitement as he leaned forward. Alex was a liar. In point of fact he was lying about everything, including his name. Sherlock signed the word 'liar' into John's palm. John took Sherlock's hand and signed back, 'heels.'

Alex and Sherlock stared at one another, each analyzing the hell out of each other. Then Alex spoke, "So, you're the famous Sherlock Holmes?"

Sherlock didn't advert his gaze as he replied, "Yes, my name is Sherlock Holmes and nothing gets past me."

Alex didn't reply he just glared back. Danny cleared his throat nervously. "Umm, Alex is a genius like you Sherlock. He's very good with numbers."

Sherlock steepled his fingers in front of him as he replied, "Oh really? How many total degrees are there among all the angles of a hexagon?'

Alex smiled as he leaned back in his chair. "720 degrees."

Sherlock bowed his head and then asked another question. "A three-digit number contains the digits 9, 5, and another digit. When this three-digit number is reversed and subtracted from the original number, the result contains the same three digits as in the original number. What is the third digit?"

Alex took a few moments and then replied." Four."

The battle went back and forth.

Sherlock: "What is the measure of each angle of an equiangular pentagon?"

Alex: "108 degrees."

Sherlock: "Why?"

Alex: "A pentagon contains 540 degrees."

Sherlock: What is the square root of 729?"

Alex: "27."

John looked over at Danny. "This could go on all night unless we put a stop to it."

"Sherlock, it looks as if you've found another proper genius in the city. Now how about we actually spend our time conversing." John said as he looked at Sherlock and then Alex.

Sherlock pouted as he said, "I thought that's what we were doing."

John shook his head and then held a finger to his lips. "No, you and Alex were showing off. Danny and I know you are both proper geniuses. Now let's just relax and enjoy ourselves."

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and was about to protest when John turned his back on Danny and Alex and mouthed the word, 'heels'.


	2. Chapter 2

John swore as he struggled to pull on the ridiculous high heeled boots Sherlock had asked him to wear. Once the task was accomplished John stared at his reflection in the mirror. The top half of his body was military attire, uniform and all. The bottom half consisted of a pleather pair of tight shorts with the British flag plastered across the front and a pair of black knee high boots.

John laughed and then looked down. "Jesus, what I won't do for you, Sherlock," he thought.

John made his way into the main sitting room. Sherlock stood at the window with his hands clasped behind his back. He was wearing his long blue robe, fish net stockings and a black pair of stiletto pumps.

"Sherlock, are you ready to play?" John asked as he clunked over to where Sherlock stood. No answer. "Sherlock?" John asked again. "Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked in concern.

Sherlock turned a tear streaked face towards John. "Yes, I'm sorry John you look marvelous but please just go to bed."

John's shorts squeaked as he walked over and took Sherlock in his arms. "Sherlock, talk to me."

Mascara ran Sherlock's cheeks and his bottom lip trembled as he whispered, "John, I'm not cut out for all this."

John took Sherlock's hand in his own. "Come on Sherlock follow me."

Like a child Sherlock took John's hand. When they got to the bedroom John ordered Sherlock to sit down on the edge of the bed. A few moments later he returned with a jar of cold cream in his hands. With a gentle thrust John pushed a wash cloth into the cream and then began to remove Sherlock's makeup. When he was finished John took Sherlock into his arms, marveling at how fragile Sherlock was. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

Sherlock undid his robe to reveal a black corset. "John, I don't want to bore you in the bedroom. I just…just don't know what I'm doing."

John put his fingers underneath Sherlock's chin. "That is the most intelligent thing I've ever heard you say. Sherlock, you could never bore me. If you were to look at me with that intense look of yours, I would come in my pants without you even touching me."

Sherlock searched John's face and then pounced. With one frantic motion he threw off his robe and then sighed in exasperation. "John, help me get this stupid corset off."

John calmed Sherlock with one touch as he slowly untied the corset, letting it slip to the floor like a corn husk. With a gentle hip thrust John moved Sherlock on his back and then smiled as he slipped Sherlock's heels off. John then kissed Sherlock's thighs as he removed the fish net stockings. Sherlock lay like a limp naked sacrificial virgin in John's arms. John then kissed Sherlock until they both had to part to get their breath.

Sherlock then became the leader as he rubbed his hand over John's slick, shiny shorts, chuckling at John's discomfort. "John, why I do believe that the flag on your shorts is no longer flying at half-mast."

Sherlock had the upper hand as he divested John of his clothing. Then he smiled as John's body trembled with need. "I love you, Sherlock," John whispered. And with those four words the balance of power shifted as Sherlock fought to reconcile his intellect and his emotions. In frustration he reached over and pulled open the drawer of his nightstand.

John's eyes bulged with disbelief as Sherlock pulled out the dreaded red leather Moroccan case and a rubber tie. Ignoring John, Sherlock opened the case and stared with a hungry fascination at the syringe inside.

"Sherlock, what are you doing?" John snapped out in a tone laced with fear and anger.

"John, you're a Doctor. You could give me a dose, just enough to relax me." Sherlock said aloud as he handed John the case.

John slapped the case out of Sherlock's hand. "I'm not having sex with you if you have to get high just to let me touch you. I'm not having sex with you while you're high."

Sherlock fingered the case for a moment and then looked over at John with a gaze that appeared to be lit by fires within. "John, you could give me enough. You could give me too much."

John was about to leave when he noticed Sherlock's body fighting for control. With careful precision John reached out and touched the soft part of Sherlock's pelvic area just below his hip bone. "And you could just as easily poison me."

Sherlock bit his lower lip as he arched into John's touch. "Yes, we could both watch each other die by each other's hand."

John smiled as he massaged Sherlock's lower back. "So, this talk of poisoning each other is foreplay talk for you?"

Sherlock moved John's hand down and towards his center. "Apparently so."

John took Sherlock in his arms. "Sherlock, we are together in this you aren't alone."

Sherlock traced John's jaw with his finger. "I can't begin to imagine what that's like."

John laughed as he tussled with Sherlock. "So, how do you think Danny and Alex are getting on?"

Sherlock tensed. "I'm pretty sure that Alex, if that's his real name is going to lose his virginity tonight."

Across town…

Alex stared at the door, wishing he hadn't shaken hands with Danny, wishing that he hadn't said, 'That things were moving too fast.' The cold bit into his face as he stood rooted to the spot. What would happen if he stood there forever? Would Danny come for him, or would everyone pass him by?

As if reading his mind Alex looked up and saw Danny watching him. For a moment he thought Danny was a mirage and then Danny smiled. Alex swallowed and then smiled back, for tonight was the first night of his life. The night where he would no longer be alone. The night where he and Danny would exchange a piece of their souls. A night where a kiss would last a lifetime. "I can't begin to imagine what that's like," Alex thought as he let Danny lead him upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

The surrounding s of Mycroft's club were meant to intimidate, but John wasn't buying.

"So, let me get this straight. You are now telling whom I can or can't remain friends with?" John whispered through clenched teeth.

Mycroft sighed and as he placed his fingers in a steeple like position just underneath his nose. "John, I am begging you for your sake and Sherlock's, have nothing to do with the man who calls himself Alex."

"And Danny?" John asked as he pursed his lips and leaned forward.

Mycroft remained silent and then spoke with a quiet precision that gave John the chills. "Unless he parts company with Alex, then no. Danny is an expendable pawn that will be caught in the undertow." For a moment Mycroft looked pensive and then he smiled that charming smile that put John's teeth on edge.

Anxious to get back at Mycroft John stepped into his personal space and then jabbed a finger at Mycroft's chest. "I thought you were the British Government."

Mycroft looked away from John, focusing his attention on the dust motes that danced in the afternoon light from the windows. "The Government is changing, John. It is becoming more encompassing, streamlined in order to deal with our perceived enemies."

John paced back and forth. "Now you're just being dramatic." Mycroft reached out and grasped John's arm. Surprised by the physical contact John held still for a moment. "John, please believe me when I say that I will not be able to protect you or Sherlock if you both persist in this friendship with Alex and his partner."

John jerked his hand out of Mycroft's grasp and then shouted, "Go to hell, Mycroft." He then smiled at the outraged look of the club's stuffy inhabitants as he let the door slam.

Sherlock listened to John's tirade about the conversation with Mycroft earlier in the day. When he was finished Sherlock sighed, "John, I told you that no good could come of double dating. Maybe next time you'll think it through and heed my advice."

"I'm just about sick of the Holmes brothers' advice," John shouted and then stormed out.

Mrs. Hudson edged into the room with a pained look on her face. "Are you boys having a domestic again? The slamming of doors is really not good for the old beams of my flat."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he said, "Mrs. Hudson, I could care less about your old beams. Now get out I need to think."

Mrs. Hudson sighed and then said in a matron like tone, "Sherlock, he'll be back don't worry. I remember when my ex-husband and I would argue like that the makeup sex would be…"

"MRS. HUDSON, OUT NOW," Sherlock roared.

Once she had left Sherlock let the quiet of the room wash over him. What was so important about Alex, so important that Mycroft would threaten himself and John? It was a puzzle. A puzzle that Sherlock couldn't resist.

John marched around the city until he was exhausted. He then settled into a pub. After his fifth or sixth libation, John laid his head down on the table, too tired to call a cab.

"Looking for a psychotic cabbie?" A familiar voice asked.

John looked up and there stood Sherlock, tall, imposing, alluring like a Greek statue that had just come to life. In a trance John took Sherlock's hand and shivered. "Sherlock, your hands are so cold."

Sherlock didn't say anything he just drug John inside the cab. "221b Baker Street," he ordered and then turned his full attention on John.

John knew that look. "Sherlock, I'm drunk are you trying to take advantage of me?"

Sherlock scooted closer to John, unperturbed by John's alcohol breath as he whispered, "Yes, Doctor." Before John knew it Sherlock put his hands on either side of John's face, kissing him hard.

This continued on for a few seconds until Sherlock's hands moved lower. "Hey, no shagging in my cab. Get out."

Sherlock's face was flushed, his lips red and swollen as he grabbed some money out of his pocket and threw it in the front seat. The cabbie counted it, whistled and then in a grudging tone said, "Fine, carry on but the clothes stay on."

Sherlock waved him off and then proceeded to work on his Doctor. Rain beat down on the roof of the cab, threatening to wash away its inhabitants. Though Sherlock heard the water, the wind and the thunder of the storm he ignored it, suppressing his dread with the feel of John's touch.


	4. Chapter 4

Sherlock wandered through the virtual archives of MI 6 with a deftness and cunning of a shark navigating through deep waters. "Hmm, Alex's name is Alastair and he is working on something quite extraordinary," Sherlock thought as his hawk-like gaze shifted through data table after data table. Each level contained a new encryption, which Sherlock met head on with relish. He became so engrossed in his project that he jumped when John addressed him.

"Sherlock what are you doing? What is all that gobbledygook?" John asked as he peered over John's shoulder. Sherlock slammed down the lid of the laptop so hard that John protested. "Hey, I'm not taking that to the shop again. If the screen is broken it will be the…"

John whisked the laptop under his arm and then breezed past John in a wool flurry of coat and scarf. "John, mind your own business."

Ignoring Sherlock's request John ran after him. "You're snooping into Alex's background aren't you? That's what it is isn't it?"

For a moment Sherlock peered into John's eyes and then laughed. "That's just a guess. There's no possible way that you could have an inkling of what I am researching."

John smirked. "Umm, perhaps, but I deduced that from the way you attempted to hide the screen from me that you were working on something clandestine."

Sherlock's cold stare thawed and then he smiled. "Very good, Doctor, you are learning."

John basked in Sherlock's compliment for a moment or two and then frowned. "Wait a minute, you didn't answer my question."

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his facial expression assumed a look of boredom. "Really? How odd."

John's eyes narrowed and then he stormed towards the kitchen. Sherlock could hear cupboard doors slamming as John rummaged through the mess.

"John, what are you looking for?" Sherlock asked as he walked over to the doorway of the kitchen.

John turned around as he said, "Your fancy biscuits."

Sherlock let John look around for a few moments before he said, "We've been out of them for a few days. I left a list for Mrs. Hudson, but it appears that she hasn't acquired my items yet."

John's eyes bulged as he straightened his jacket. "Fine, I'll get the biscuits. Do you know why I'll get the biscuits?" John didn't wait for Sherlock's reply as he rambled on, "Because if I don't you will live on nothing but tea. Then you will get sick and I will have to pick up the pieces."

Sherlock rolled his eyes again and bobbled his head back and forth. "John, quit being so dramatic."

John opened his mouth to reply and then shut it as he stormed down the stairs. Sherlock set the laptop down on the counter, signed out and then hurried after John.

John whirled around when he heard a voice speak behind him. "I fancy a spot of tea. How about you?"

John looked at Sherlock for a moment, resolving to go into another tirade. Then a slight breeze ruffled Sherlock's curls and John felt himself go weak in the knees. "God, he's sexy," John thought as he stared at the apparition before him. Then he took a step closer to Sherlock and replied, "Oh God yes."

John then smirked in satisfaction when he saw Sherlock's hand tremble as he said, "Perhaps, we should head back to the flat. To hell with the biscuits."

John knowing, he had the upper hand smiled and said, "No, I don't think so." It was going to be fun to watch Sherlock squirm with desire.

John's breath caught in his throat when Sherlock linked his arm through his own. "I know what you're up to, Doctor, but no matter I can play the game as well. Trust me when I say this will be the longest tea we have both ever had to endure."

Once in the tea shop Sherlock and John sat across from one another, unable to keep their eyes from exploring each other.

"John, Sherlock is that you?" A voice asked.

"Blast," Sherlock thought, for he was looking forward to his slow, methodical seduction of John.

"Danny, how are you?" John asked as he offered up a chair.

Sherlock pulled the chair close to the table as he said, "Sorry, this one's taken."

"Sherlock, don't be churlish," John scolded.

Sherlock sighed resigned to the inventible small talk.

"So, how are you Danny and how is Alex?" John asked as he winked at Sherlock.

Danny smiled and Sherlock silenced his would be snide comments when he observed the enraptured look on Danny's face. "We're both fine. Everything's going well. We've been together almost 8 months now."

John leaned forward. "Really, that's wonderful isn't it Sherlock?"

Sherlock lips turned up in a quick smile as he replied, "Oh, yes just lovely."

John and Danny laughed in unison. "Well, we both have our sour pusses. I'm surprised they didn't hit it off." John said as he looked over at Danny.

Sherlock was about to reply when a voice spoke behind him, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "Well, Danny I see your company has improved, for isn't that the great Sherlock Holmes sitting across from you?"

Sherlock's hands went cold and the blood drained from his face so quickly that John leaned forward in concern. "Sherlock, what is it?" John asked.

The man ruffled Sherlock's hair as he said, "My name is Rich and Sherlock and I go back a long way. Don't we Sherlock? Let's reminiscence, shall we?"

Sherlock gripped the table with such a force that it felt as if its molecular structure would crumble beneath his grasp, for his world was about to end.


	5. Chapter 5

Rich licked his lips as he observed the panicked expression on Sherlock's face. "This was going to be fun," he thought. "So, Sherlock who is this handsome gentleman next to you?"

When Sherlock didn't reply John held out his hand, "Doctor John Watson."

Rich's eyebrows shot up. "Oh yes, Doctor Watson, Sherlock's faithful companion. I've seen your picture in the paper. It doesn't do you justice, John," Rich purred. Then he stared at John in such a way that John blushed to the roots of his scalp.

John swallowed and then leaned forward in an aggressive manner. "It's Doctor Watson, only friends call me John."

Rich bent his head back and laughed. "Sherlock, shall we let John in on the little joke?" Sherlock said nothing. "Well, Doctor Watson, you and I know each other by proxy. Sherlock is our proxy and such a cute one at that." Rich said as he caressed the back of Sherlock's neck.

John stood up almost knocking his chair over. "Okay, I don't know who the hell you are and frankly I don't want to know. This…this conversation or whatever it is, is over."

Rick stopped petting Sherlock and stared at John in contempt. "Oh, so you're taking up for your damsel in distress are you? Well, before you do perhaps you should know just what you're protecting. You're protecting an addict. Now Danny here was nothing more than a drug whore, but Sherlock he had money." Rich let his eyes glaze over as he fixed a lust filled gaze at Sherlock. "The seduction of Sherlock was a grand achievement, the way his body trembled with need as darkness consumed his soul. God, I'm ready to get off just thinking about it."

Sherlock got up and pushed himself away from the table with such force that he stumbled to the ground. Tea things fell to the ground with a crash. Sherlock ignored the mess and ran for the door.

"Sherlock," John shouted and ran after him.

Danny looked at Rich in disgust. "Why do you have to be such a prick?" He muttered as he left the shop. Once outside he looked for Sherlock and John but they were nowhere to be found. Danny shivered. The mid-afternoon sun that had warmed him earlier in the day had now gone into hiding behind a patch of dark clouds.

By the time John made it back to the flat he was soaked to the skin. He threw open the door calling for Mrs. Hudson. "Mrs. Hudson?"

Mrs. Hudson came scurrying to John's side. "John, what is it? What's happened?"

John shook the rain off of his jacket as he said, "Something bad, something bad. Has Sherlock been back to the flat?"

Mrs. Hudson looked worried, shook her head and watched as John discarded the wet jacket he was wearing for a dry one. "Text me if he comes back," John said as he ran down the stairs.

John then called a cab and headed towards the destitute part of London, praying he wouldn't find Sherlock passed out somewhere in a crack den.

John had checked two of the dens Sherlock had been known to frequent in the past. It was with dread that John looked out the window to the third and worst of them. The cabbie looked at John with suspicion. "Are you sure you want me to leave you here?" He asked.

John sighed, "Yes, I don't suppose I could convince you to wait for me?"

The cabbie laughed. "Not on your life and you probably won't find another cabbie that will come out here to get you."

John frowned in annoyance as he replied, "Yes, fine."

The cabbie looked at John's tip, grimaced and pulled out away from the scene. John watched as the taillights of the cab vanished and then set about his task. Upon using Sherlock's name for entry into the den, John gagged at the mess around him. Used needles, bloody tissues, spoons, lighters and other drug paraphernalia lay scattered around on the ground like the pieces from a mad child's game of Jacks.

"Sherlock," John whispered among the groans and whimpers. John repeated this verbal process several times as he made his way through the piles of refuse and excrement that covered the floor.

"John?" A faint voice called out.

John slipped and slid on the slime slicked ground as he made towards Sherlock's soft quires. Not caring if the floor was filthy or not, John sat down next to Sherlock. "Sherlock, are you alright?" John asked in a gentle tone. He showed a pen sized flashlight in Sherlock's eyes and his throat constricted. Sherlock's pupils were dark-dilated. He was high. Beside him lay a syringe, a dirty spoon and a small deflated baggie, the size of a dinner mint. "Jesus, Sherlock, what have you done?" John whispered in horror as he struggled to keep it together.

Sherlock turned out of John's gentle embrace and faced the wall. "I'm trash, John and this is where trash belongs."

John bit on his lower lip in a vain effort to control his stress induced stutter. "Sherlock…just…just stop it. You…Yoou…you are not trash. Now come home and we will face whatever it is together."

Sherlock looked over at John with a lazy grin. "Sweet, loyal, brave John before you decide to take me home perhaps you should hear my tale of debauchery."

John nodded as he said, "Fine, but outside I can't stand this stench."

Sherlock grinned again as he said, "What stench?"

John held out his hand and pulled Sherlock towards him as he said, "Come on, you."

Once they were outside John breathed a sigh of relief. Sherlock smiled, took John's hand and led him towards a tunnel. "Where are we going, Sherlock?"

Sherlock chuckled. "It's a surprise, Doctor."

John held back as he said, "Sherlock, I've had enough surprises today." Sherlock gestured towards a tunnel. "And I'm not going in that thing."

A few moments later John was cursing and coughing as he and Sherlock crawled through the metal, tubular shaped passageway. "Why do I always let you talk me into these things?" John grumbled as they inched forward on their hands and knees. At the end of the tunnel, John panicked when it came to a dead end. "Great we're trapped in here," John muttered.

Sherlock ignored him and pushed with both hands. John breathed a sigh of relief when he and Sherlock tumbled out of the tunnel and into the moonlight. They appeared to be in the center of a demolished building. "Nothing special," John thought as Sherlock took his hand and drug him off to a walled off patrician with no ceiling.

Sherlock and John looked up at the stars as they sat with their backs against the wall. "It's beautiful isn't it?" Sherlock commented as he took John's hand. "It reminds me of those Church ruins that lay scattered around the countryside, you know the Reformation and all?"

John folded his arms across his chest, "Yes, Sherlock I know what the Reformation is. I also know how the solar system works."

Sherlock chuckled and then took a joint out of his pocket and lit it up. After taking a deep drag he held it out to John. "Trust me you're going to need it," Sherlock said as he nudged John's arm.

John stared at it for a moment or two and then shrugged, "What the hell," he said as he took a drag, letting the scent of the smoke transport him back to his college aged years. Once John's body began to relax, Sherlock began to open up.


	6. Chapter 6

John stroked the side of Sherlock's face as he began to talk. "I met Rich in a club," Sherlock said as he exhaled a plume of bluish smoke.

John waited for Sherlock to reply and then took another hit. After a brief coughing spell John spluttered, "What kind of a club?"

"A high class escort club," Sherlock stated as he took the joint from John's fingers.

John frowned. "So, you were on a case?"

Sherlock became more agitated as he looked around. "No, I went there on my own whenever I needed companionship."

John smiled. "Oh, I see like a date to the opera or something."

Sherlock began to grind his teeth and then he rang his hands. "No, John, I went there to get relief." As John continued to stare at Sherlock he sighed in exasperation, "John, I went there to have someone get me off."

John took another hit and giggled as he said, "Okay, so go on."

Sherlock scowled at John and then continued on, "So, one night after getting…off, I met Rich in the lobby. He offered me a balloon of heroin; god it was high quality. Soon I was meeting at his house once a week and then once a night for a fix.

At first that's all it was and then one night Rich and I got really wasted. When he began to rub me down I didn't mind as long as my clothes stayed on. So, that's how things went for a while. We'd get high, Rich would get me off and then I'd leave." Sherlock then looked down at his feet unable to continue.

John gathered Sherlock in his arms, "Come on now, you don't need to tell me a thing."

Sherlock ignored John's words of comfort. "Then one night I let him suck me off and that's when all hell broke loose. He wanted more and I let him have it as long as it was just a blow job and that was it. But it didn't stop there…He wanted…everything, including my soul. As long as there was no anal penetration I let him do it. Hell, half the time I was shooting up or smoking, ignoring him as he plundered me. I would just lay there and let him take over."

Sherlock shoulders were starting to shake as he reached for John's hand. "Then one night we weren't alone. Some of Rich's drug whores were there. When Rich offered me to them as a treat I panicked. He laughed it off. After hearing the rules, I relented, no anal sex just oral…John, I let them swarm over me like animals. Night after night I succumbed until I overdosed. Rich didn't want to call an ambulance so he just called Mycroft. Mycroft picked me up in that condition. John, I was naked, filthy, high, in short a disgusting mess. I belonged in the gutter then just as I do now, so just leave me here."

John pulled Sherlock into his arms and murmured into his hair, "Sherlock, you have so much to learn. I love you and I don't care if all of London sucked you off."

Sherlock nodded and looked away. "Well, that's a comfort because I'm pretty sure that's what happened. I have been tested though, and continue to get tested so that…"

John kissed Sherlock on the mouth. "I know you will always keep me safe, Sherlock. Now let's go home."

Sherlock stumbled to his feet and led John out of his hide away and into an alley. Then he sank down behind a trash bin and began to cry. "John, I'm trash leave me."

John knew that Sherlock was coming down off of a high so he just fidgeted for a moment or two and then sat beside Sherlock. "Sherlock, you aren't garbage, now let's go home."

Sherlock grabbed at John's jacket and pulled him down. "Get me off, John."

John laughed as he tumbled down beside Sherlock. "Let's go home."

Sherlock undid his pants as he said, "No, now. Prove to me that you don't think I'm garbage."

John had every intention of zipping Sherlock up, but as his hand made contact with Sherlock's erect display, he became undone. Sherlock moaned as John fisted him in the alley. John's hands began to tire but he kept his motions strong until his fingers were soaked in Sherlock's essence.

"John, John, oh god, I am seeing a brilliant light," Sherlock groaned as he lay spread eagle in John's arms.

"Shit," John swore aloud.

"What you see it too?" Sherlock asked in a befuddled tone.

"Yes, Sherlock I see it. In case you're too high to notice, we're getting arrested," John whispered between gritted teeth.

Sherlock just laughed as he attempted to dodge the officer. Finally, he was subdued and the cuffs were put on him. John wiped his hands off on Sherlock's scarf and then submitted his own hands for manacling. "I always knew that scarf was useful for something," John said as they were led to the police car.

 **2 hours later**

Mycroft stood looking at John and Sherlock as he paid off their bail. When Lestrade saw Mycroft, he started to head the other way, swearing when Mycroft called his name. "So, Lieutenant what are the charges?"

Lestrade's face flushed but he sighed as he read off the charges, "Resisting arrest."

John looked over at Sherlock, "That was him."

Lestrade continued on, "They both failed a drug test. Sherlock was cited for indecent exposure and John was cited for committing a lewd act in public. Oh, and last but not least urinating in a police car."

John looked over at Sherlock, "That was Sherlock, but in his defense he did ask to use the loo nicely on several occasions."

Sherlock and John looked at each other and began to laugh. As usual Sherlock, recovered first," What's the world coming to when a person can't get jerked off by his boyfriend in public?" As soon as he said it Sherlock paled, "I mean John is not my boyfriend…I'm not sure what you're implying Lestrade but…"

John's expression sobered, "Sherlock, it's okay. We're together."

The whole room grew silent as Mycroft and Lestrade stared at John. John sighed. "Sherlock's my partner, my boyfriend, my mate, my fuck buddy…my…lover. I am proud to say so. I love you, Sherlock." John said as he walked over and kissed Sherlock on the lips.

Mycroft raised an eyebrow as the room erupted in cheers and cat calls. Lestrade grinned at Sherlock's bemused expression, "Well, it's about bloody time you two admitted it."

Like a fantasy sequence in a movie, Sherlock and John stared at one another realizing what each meant to the other. Sherlock kissed John on the side of his face and whispered into his ear. "John, I will be by your side forever, no matter what happens."

Only Mycroft and John heard Sherlock's whispered pledge and Mycroft shivered in dread. How could Sherlock promise something that he had no control over?


	7. Chapter 7

"Things have been going too smoothly," Sherlock thought as he stole a look at John's bare legs. They protruded from beneath his very short, striped robe and Sherlock's breath caught in his throat when John crossed one foot over the other.

Sensing Sherlock's gaze, John folded back the newspaper and asked, "What?"

The crinkling of the paper seemed to roar in Sherlock's ears as his heart pounded. When John's eyes locked on to him a tremor shook Sherlock's chest. In two strides he was across the room. He snatched John's paper out of his hands and fell to his knees. In one precise movement Sherlock yanked the belt to John's robe off. Sherlock's trembling hands then opened the folds of John's robe, delighting at the treasure trove inside. He breathed deep as he ran his fingers over John's wet thighs. Pushing his legs further apart Sherlock let the scent from John's body permeate his olfactory senses. The smell of soap, water and John's own musky odor caused Sherlock's organ to twitch.

Sherlock then tasted the droplets of water that nested in John's hair and frowned. "This water has a higher content of bleach than usual. The water district must be expecting a heavy downpour."

John started to giggle. "Seriously, Sherlock, is talking about the content of bleach in my bath water your notion of foreplay?"

"Shut up," Sherlock growled as he prepared John's body for his oral assault.

John sighed as he scooted his lower back against the back of the chair. "I love you too, Sherlock." John said as he grabbed a fistful of Sherlock's curls.

Sherlock looked up at John. His eyes were shiny and his full lips stuck out in a full pout. John gave Sherlock's head a gentle tug. "I feel like Salome with the head of John the Baptist."

"Stop with the Biblical references it's a turn off," Sherlock drawled. He looked at John for a moment or two then smirked as he went back to work.

 **Across Town-Danny and Alex**

"Oh god," Alex cried out as he and Danny made love. His body seized in uncontrollable spasms, a parallel to Danny's own orgasm that made his limbs tremble with the force of it. Reluctant to let go of his connection to Alex Danny sighed, rolled away from Alex's body, until he lay on his back. He then took Alex's hand in his own and brought it to his lips. "I love you, Alex," he whispered.

A faint smile played at the corner of Alex's lips as he mouthed the words, "I love you," back.

Danny snuggled closer to Alex as he said, "Meeting you has been the luckiest day of my life." When Alex looked troubled and didn't answer Danny rambled on. "I mean you could have anyone and yet here you are with me. I just hope I don't wake up to find you've found some young, handsome stud."

Tears formed in Alex's eyes as he traced Danny's jaw with his thumb. "I would never leave you, Danny. If you ever wake up to find me gone, it will be because I can't reach you."

Danny smoothed away a tear that started to trickle down Alex's face as he whispered, "You aren't alone anymore, Alex. I will be with you always. If you can't reach me I will find you."

Alex studied Danny with such a look of sadness that Danny had to look away. "Alex, let's have breakfast in. I will cook."

Alex grinned. "Okay, sounds fine. I'm sure I've survived worse."

Danny smiled back. "I am so happy. Nothing can bring me down," he thought as he broke two eggs. The shells folded under the slight pressure of his thumb. Yoke and egg white slid into the frying pan, any potential for life sizzled away against the searing hot metal. Danny then kissed Alex on the lips and his happiness bubbled over as he said, "Let's go away for the weekend."

Alex smiled. Then he looked troubled as he turned the radio up and fiddled with the back of his computer. "I'll have to get a new battery for my computer."

Danny felt as if he were floating on air as he cleaned up. For he felt sure that the coming weekend was going to be the best of his life.

 **221b Baker Street**

Sherlock groaned, as he wound his legs around John's neck. "John, thrust further in and to the rrright," Sherlock stuttered.

John bit on his lower lip as he huffed, "I'm a Doctor, Sherlock. I'm pretty sure I can get you off at least three times without instruction." To prove his point, John thrust his hips up, stopped all motion, which made Sherlock beg. Then with a wicked grin on his face John slid home, only satisfied when Sherlock's eyes rolled up to the top of his head, his groan morphed into a wail, and his body went rigid. Sherlock's body pulsed out of control and in relief he surrendered it all to John's care.

Sherlock and John lay in each other's arms. John loved it when Sherlock's mind and body became placid. Without a word he lay against John, sated at last. John smiled as he rubbed Sherlock's back.

"Sherlock, let's go away for the weekend," John said as he kneaded the soft muscles in Sherlock's neck.

"Ummm, okay," Sherlock murmured.

"Let's go to that little inn, you know the one near the Baskerville Lab," John said as kissed Sherlock's damp forehead.

Sex permeated every pore on Sherlock's body as he stretched and wriggled on his back. "Sure, John, whatever you say," he replied in a sleepy voice.

John felt as if his heart would burst with happiness. "This is going to be the best weekend ever," he thought.


	8. Chapter 8

John watched Sherlock as they drove through the muddy roads to the little Inn near Baskerville. Sherlock's brow furrowed as his narrowed eyes concentrated on the task at hand. Noticing John's perusal of his face and body, Sherlock pulled the land rover to the side of the road.

"What?" Sherlock asked in a slow silken tone.

John shivered. "Just looking."

Sherlock smirked as he reached over and began to suck on John's neck. "I know what you're thinking, Doctor. Can't you wait until we reach the Inn, or do you want me to get you off here?"

John could feel his skin heating up under Sherlock's touch. "God, that feels good, Sherlock," John gasped as Sherlock's teeth nipped at his nipples. After a few minutes of straining over the gearshift, John put his hands against Sherlock's chest. "Sherlock, stop the gear shift is in the way. This is way too awkward."

Sherlock grinned as whispered into John's ear. "I could make excellent use of the gear shift while you watch."

John laughed as he placed his hands on Sherlock's chest again. "Let's just get to the Inn before one of us uses the gear shift as a butt plug."

Sherlock laughed, relaxing his aquiline features. John laughed with him delighting in the rare moments when he could bask in Sherlock's mirth. The way he must have been before the pressures of life imploded on his personality.

Sherlock smiled and John's world ignited in its rays of temporal joy. John wanted to tell Sherlock just how much he meant to him but fearing Sherlock's sarcastic wit, John just smiled back and then looked out the window at the mist covered hills. Soon they would be engulfed in darkness.

Once they got to the Inn, Sherlock could barely contain himself during the check in process. After a few moments of John chatting with the gay couple that owned the place, Sherlock tugged at John's arm and whispered in his ear. "John, bedroom now."

John disengaged himself from the conversation, grabbed their room key and followed an impatient Sherlock up the stairs. Once inside the room, Sherlock threw his scarf on to the floor, took John's face in his hands and began to kiss him.

John pulled away for a moment as Sherlock fixated on him. He chuckled as he said, "Well, I guess we know who's topping tonight."

Sherlock's hands trembled as he worked the buttons of John's shirt open. After a few futile attempts he stepped back.

"John, take off your clothes slowly," Sherlock ordered in a hoarse voice. He then went and lay down on the bed for his private showing.

John flushed as he removed his shirt, chill bumps raced along his arms, but not from the cold. "Sherlock, maybe I should take a shower first. I mean we've been traveling and…"

"Shut up, John. I don't care if you haven't bathed for a week. I want to taste you all of you. Now do as your told, Doctor," Sherlock commanded as he squirmed in discomfort when the material of his trousers tightened.

Once John stood naked before him Sherlock got up, led him to the bed and began to taste each part of John's body, like snacks presented on a party platter.

John sighed in pleasure as Sherlock's tongue gently lapped all the right places. He knew where to look and where to lick. John's knees trembled, knowing that Sherlock had just begun. It was going to be a long wonderful night. John whispered aloud as Sherlock squeezed his hips in a firm grasp. "Oh, god, Sherlock, it's going to be a long night."

"Yes, doctor you are correct; it's going to be a thousand and one seductions in one night. Death by a thousand fucks," Sherlock whispered back as he prepared John's body for an evening of pain and pleasure.

Danny threw a few things into a backpack. His hands shook in anticipation of the wonderful weekend that awaited he and Alex. Alex had kept their weekend destination a secret. Danny smiled. Their destination didn't matter as long as he and Alex were together. "I'll follow you anywhere even into the dark," Danny thought as he sat back on the white steps of Alex's flat and waited.

John watched Sherlock as he slept. It was such a rare occurrence that John was transfixed by the early morning sunlight as it illuminated Sherlock's ivory skin. "How could such a little devil look so angelic?" John thought as he winced when he sat down on the edge of the bed.

Sherlock looked up and yawned, then reached for John. Thinking Sherlock was half asleep John scooted closer and became surprised when Sherlock pressed his pelvis against John's leg. "Oh, Doctor, I have something for you," Sherlock said as a laugh rumbled deep down in his chest.

After a romp or two, Sherlock finally settled down. John grabbed a travel pamphlet from off the nightstand and leafed through it. "So, Sherlock what do you want to do today?" John asked as he read through the activities the brochure presented.

Without asking, Sherlock snatched it out of John's hands and began to read aloud. "Come, watch how apple cider is made, visit a working farm, nature hikes, couples massage…. It all sounds boring, dreadful in fact," Sherlock said as he threw the brochure across the room.

John laughed. "Well, you've already missed breakfast. So, I'm going to take yet another shower and then you can let me know what you want to do."

Sherlock frowned. "I just assumed we'd stay in the room all weekend."

John grinned and plopped down beside Sherlock. "You mean a sex holiday?"

Sherlock took a deep breath. "Call it what you will."

John traced his finger along Sherlock's jaw line. "You are so fucking sexy. But if we're going to keep this up all weekend you are going to need something to eat."

Sherlock smirked as he leaned back against the headboard, kicking the sheet off to reveal his state of undress. "I had plenty to eat last night."

John's face flushed as he looked away and then down, then back at Sherlock. "You are a wicked creature. I'm going to get another shower and then I'm going to bring you up a tray."

Sherlock sighed as he heard the water running in the shower. He was about to join him when a ping on John's phone distracted him. Looking to see who it was from Sherlock scrolled down and read:

Danny: John, Alex has been missing for a day now. We were supposed to go away for the weekend. Have you seen or heard from him? What should I do?

Sherlock frowned. "Boring," he said and then pushed the delete button.


	9. Chapter 9

Danny sat on the steps to Alex's flat like an abandoned family pet that doesn't understand why it's been left to fend for itself. There were no texts from John or Sherlock. Feeling panic stricken but not wanting to involve the police, Alex headed over to Scotty's house.

John frowned as he checked the messages on his phone. "Sherlock, have you been checking my phone messages again?"

Sherlock looked up at John with an innocent expression. "No, why?"

"Because I just checked my deleted box and along with tons of gay porn videos, I found a message from Danny. He says Alex is missing." John stated as he once more looked at Sherlock.

Sherlock sighed. "Alright, I downloaded the videos and jacked off while you were asleep. Then I deleted Danny's message. It was boring. Who cares if he and Alex are having a lovers' quarrel."

John held up his hand for Sherlock to be quiet. "Sherlock, please stop for a moment."

Sherlock folded his arms across his chest and then said, "If you're looking for the best of the videos I found 'Jumbo Shrimp Cocktails' to be the most salacious."

"Sherlock, just shut it. Danny thinks Alex has been murdered. We've got to get back to London," John said as his worried eyes sought Sherlock's.

Sherlock nodded as his gut tightened. He and John's sex holiday was coming to an end. Back to London. Back to danger. The danger Mycroft had warned them about.

"John, maybe we should leave this to Scotland Yard," Sherlock said in a quiet voice.

John looked at Sherlock in anger. "I don't care what Mycroft warned us about. A friend of ours is in trouble."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "A friend of yours."

John took Sherlock by the arm. "Sherlock, what is it? What are you afraid of?"

Preparing for a verbal assault John braced himself and was surprised when Sherlock remained silent for a moment or two. "John, Mycroft's warning was different this time. He was…was scared."

"All the more reason why we should get back there," John replied as he began to pack.

"John…I can't lose you," Sherlock said as he gripped John's wrist.

John's annoyed look softened as he kissed Sherlock. "You worry too much. I'm not going anywhere. You're stuck with me."

Sherlock swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Promise…promise you won't do anything without me backing you up."

John nuzzled Sherlock's neck. "You are so hot when you worry."

Sherlock could feel his palms begin to sweat as John sucked on his ear lobe. "John, check out time is not for another two hours. It would be a shame to waste the room."

"Waste not wont not my wicked detective," John said as he laughed and then tackled Sherlock rolling him over on his back.

A couple of hours later, Sherlock and John stood looking at each other in front of the checkout desk. Goodbyes to the inn keepers had been said and it was time to go back to the city-to London.

Once inside the vehicle, John took Sherlock's hand in his own. "Sherlock, you do see why we have to help Danny, don't you? What if you were missing? I would lose my mind until I found you. It would be devastating."

Sherlock looked into John's kind, blue eyes and his breath caught in his throat as he replied, "Yes, it would."

Once back at Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson met Sherlock and John with a round of hugs. "Did you boys have a good time?"

Sherlock smirked. "Yes, indeed."

John squeezed by and winced when Mrs. Hudson brushed up against him. "John, did you hurt your leg?"

Sherlock pinched John's backside and then winked at Mrs. Hudson as he said, "No, his bum got quite a work out."

John's face flushed as he exclaimed, "Sherlock."

Sherlock feeling in a playful mood replied, "Yes, that is exactly what you said over and over, John."

Mrs. Hudson frowned at Sherlock as she chided him. "Sherlock, it's not decent, teasing John so."

Sherlock placed a quick peck on the side of Mrs. Hudson's cheek as he said, "My dear Mrs. Hudson, I assure you that nothing John and I did this past weekend could be qualified as decent."

"Blast," John shouted from the direction of the kitchen, "we're out of biscuits. I am going to have to go out and get some."

Sherlock frowned as he looked at Mrs. Hudson. "Mrs. Hudson, you are getting quite remiss as of late."

Mrs. Hudson put her hands on her hips. "Now, Sherlock I'm your landlady not your housekeeper."

Sherlock opened his mouth to reply when the front door of the flat slammed shut.

Mrs. Hudson looked at Sherlock and then in the direction of the door. "Did you two have a domestic?"

Sherlock sighed, "No, he'll be back shortly."

"Don't you want to go after him?" Mrs. Hudson asked in a gentle voice.

Sherlock sighed as he made his way to the bedroom, shouting towards Mrs. Hudson as he did so. "John, will be fine, he always is."

Two hours later Sherlock's phone rang. "Sherlock Holmes?" A voice devoid of emotion asked.

Sherlock grimaced. "Yes, what is it?"

"There's a limo waiting out front. We need you to get in it." The voice rasped.

"Is this some trick of Mycroft's?" Sherlock asked.

The voice on the other end became quiet and then Sherlock heard a chuckle that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. "No, Mycroft Holmes was ordered to stand down on this one."


	10. Chapter 10

Though Sherlock's outward demeanor appeared calm, his insides churned. John was in trouble. As the limo sped through the streets of London, Sherlock was handed a blue bio suit. "Put this on just inside the flat."

Sherlock frowned. "And if I don't?"

The man holding a gun on him laughed. "Then you'll be just in time to see your friend choke to death on his own vomit just before I put a bullet in your brain."

Sherlock snatched the blue, suit, booties and hat from the man and fought in vain to keep his hands from shaking. When the limo pulled up in front of Alex's flat Sherlock shivered. The place had Whitehall stamped all over it. From its sterile white washed columns to the camera that moved back and forth like a winged predator searching for its prey.

Sherlock got out of the limo, resisting the urge to give the bird to the camera. Inside the foyer, a man held a gun on him while he changed into the blue, hateful outfit. A machine hummed as it whisked all evidence of their presence away into a bio filter. Sherlock swallowed down the lump in his throat. For this was a massive cover up operation. The man motioned him into a room with two cameras trained on a couple of trunks.

Another man flipped a switched on a computer console and all hell broke loose as Sherlock's world imploded on him.

"Get me out of here. Please I beg of you. What do you want?" A voice screamed out in a long tortuous wine.

The sound made the hairs of the back of Sherlock's neck prickle. It was John's voice. He stepped nearer to the computer attempting to keep his thoughts calm and rational. John's vitals and pupil dilatation showed up in a corner of the screen. His rapid heartbeat was off the charts.

One of the technicians nudged Sherlock in the arm. "You can speak to him through this microphone."

Sherlock stepped forward. "John, it's me, Sherlock."

"SSSSherlock, get me out of here. What do they want? Oh, God, Sherlock I'm running out of time. The air in here is…" John's voice trailed off.

"John, don't talk, breathe deep, count to 10. I'll fix this." Sherlock said in a gentle voice only reserved for the love of his life-John.

"What is this?" Sherlock hissed in rage.

A suited figure approached him. "If John answers correctly he will be set free. If not then, he will meet the fate of his friend."

Sherlock looked at the other screen and for the first time noticed a man in another trunk. It was Alex. Turning around Sherlock observed a woman weeping. She was led through the room as Alex breathed his last. His dying breath a profession of love for Danny.

Sherlock stood rooted to the spot in shock. It was all too much. One of the suited figures brushed him aside and began asking John questions over the micro phone.

"Is your name John Hamish Watson?" The voice asked.

Sherlock winced at the idea of some monovalent stranger speaking John's name. It de-humanized him. John was just a test subject for these monsters. "I will make them pay," Sherlock thought. "Once we get out of here I will make them all pay. I will kill everyone in Whitehall and MI 6 if I have to." The rush of adrenaline from the vengeful thoughts that raced through his mind gave him the strength to not collapse at the video display of John's supine, distorted body within the trunk.

"Yes, I am." John's weak voice brought Sherlock around to the present.

"Do you know anything about the natural of Alex's work?"

"No, for the love of god, no. Sherlock, help me please." John's voice came out in an inhuman wail that tore at Sherlock's soul.

"John Watson, has Danny or anyone else discussed the nature of Alex's work?"

One second drug by and then another and then another. John lay silent in his would be grave. Sherlock ran forward and jerked the microphone out of the technician's hands. "John, hang on."

Strong arms pinned Sherlock from behind. "Mr. Holmes, you will kindly refrain from disobedience. I was not bluffing about my earlier threats regarding your inability to follow simple instructions."

Sherlock wrenched his arms free, while the questions rained upon John's fragile psyche like an enemy World War II airstrike on London. Then the questions stopped. He watched while they analyzed the data from John's vitals. When the leader of the group finally came over to where Sherlock stood, he was seething with rage. The only thing that prevented Sherlock from crushing the man's windpipe was the thought of the second trunk's precious cargo.

"Mr. Holmes, you may take the Doctor home now. However, I need not remind you to tell no one of your time here. Not even your big brother. He will be briefed separately." The figure stood in front of Sherlock for a few moments. "Sherlock Holmes, consider yourself fortunate. This could have gone much worse for you and John Watson. In future, be careful whom you go on double dates with."

Like a patient being discharged from a hospital John's wallet and watch were handed to Sherlock in a plastic bag. "Where's his clothes?"

"They were destroyed just in case." A female mono tone voice answered.

"Just in case of what?" Sherlock countered.

"In case his answers weren't acceptable."

Sherlock shivered realizing how close John came to meeting Alex's fate. John stumbled towards him wrapped in a blanket. He only took a few steps then crumpled to his knees.

"Carry him to the car." A voice ordered.

A hulking figure sighed scooping John up. Sherlock rushed to keep in step with him, just like an impatient child waiting to catch a first glimpse of a newborn sibling. When they finally reached the inside of the car, Sherlock wriggled out of the blue bio suit and took John in his arms. He was filthy covered in blood and his own waste.

Sherlock took a deep breath, not to clear his nostrils of John's stench, but to calm the unruly emotions that threatened to overwhelm his normally placid features.

"John," Sherlock whispered.

John looked up at Sherlock, clutched the lapels of his coat and smiled. Then a stress induced exhaustion forced John to close his eyes.

"John, make note. I will make them pay. I will burn them. I will hold their beating hearts in my hand, laughing while I make them watch me squeeze the life out of them. No one will be safe. For I am the East Wind and I will sweep them away like useless chaff. I will be the reaper and they shall reap the whirl wind."


	11. Chapter 11

The limo stopped in front of 221b Baker Street. Sherlock took off his coat, wrapping John's semi-conscious body in its warm folds. He reached for the door, only to have it wrenched open by Mrs. Hudson. She took one look at John and sank down on the first step. "Dear god, Sherlock, is he…?" Her voice trailed off unable to say the hateful word, 'dead'.

Sherlock shook his head answering, "No." His voice came out in an unsteady wobble.

Mrs. Hudson trailed behind, following Sherlock to their bedroom. Her hands flew to her mouth when Sherlock deposited John on the bed. "Sherlock…. he belongs in hospital."

Sherlock came across the room and laid his hands gently on Mrs. Hudson's shoulders. "Mrs. Hudson, please leave us alone. Everything will be fine."

Mrs. Hudson nodded backing out of the room, unable to tear her eyes from the horror that lay before her. Sherlock gave her a wan smile, then shut and locked the door. Its click a quiet dismal to all who would disturb them.

John's eyes flew open when Sherlock inspected his body for signs of deep cuts or gashes. "John, let's get you into the bath." The dulcet tones of his voice failed to soothe John as they usually did.

"No, no, I can't don't make me. Sherlock they'll find us. Hide. We have to hide," John whispered burrowing his way under the covers. "Sherlock, get my gun we'll need it."

Sherlock retrieved John's automatic, checked the magazine and safety, then joined John. Once under the covers John began to panic. "Sherlock, we've got to get out. I can't breathe there isn't enough air." Then he kicked Sherlock in the stomach throwing the blankets to the ground. Clenching his abdomen, Sherlock swore as his muscles cramped up. John was still strong, that was for sure.

"Sherlock, give me the gun," John demanded.

"No," Sherlock grunted rolling over. John was beside him in a moment, taking advantage of his inability to stand. Once the gun was his, John became a soldier, checking the door to make sure it was locked and scanning the perimeter of the room. Sherlock remained quiet hoping that John would recover from his disorientation.

"Sherlock, get up. I'll protect you. We're under attack. Come on damn it. Don't fuck around." John screamed out his voice hoarse from the adrenaline that coursed through his system.

Sherlock stood up and whispered, "John, it's alright you're safe. You're home at Baker Street."

John shook his head. "Nope, you're lying. Don't lie to me Sherlock!"

Sherlock crept closer to John. "John, look in the mirror. Just look in the mirror."

"There is no mirror in the fucking desert, you moron," John shouted.

"John, look at me. Keep your eyes fixed on me." Sherlock said walking towards John.

"No, the last time you told me that you jumped and…and…. Oh no, Sherlock, Alex he's dead. He suffered so. I couldn't help him. I am Doctor and I couldn't save him. I just couldn't…" John sobbed, dropping the gun. He put his hands over his ears as if the room were filled with the sounds from a previous firefight.

"I've been hit. This is Captain John Watson of the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers and I've been hit." Then his eyes rolled up to the top of his head and he passed out in Sherlock's arms.

Sherlock looked down at John's tattered form and attempted to quell the hate which raged through his system. In a calm manner he walked over to the nightstand and retrieved John's medical bag. Riffling through its contents he finally found what he needed, a Librium injectable. John's eyes fluttered open when Sherlock bent down and kissed his forehead. "Sleep," he whispered, prepping John's arm, ignoring the wave of desire that swept over him when the needle pricked John's pale skin.

Sherlock took in a deep breath as his hips thrust forward against John's body. He gritted his teeth in frustration attempting to quell the stirring in his groin when he disengaged the needle from its blue venous position. Throwing the syringe in the trash, Sherlock got up retrieving some warm moist towels. Though he would have never guessed it, he loved wiping away the filth that covered John's body. When he finished, Sherlock inspected his handy work. John was clean. His skin a glowing pink. Beautiful. He shook his head to focus, grabbed a pair of sweats from their dresser and bundled John up, then he waited with gun in hand. John was too fragile to run so he would just have to wait. Wait for them to come, then Sherlock would take his revenge.

Sherlock must have fallen asleep for the room had grown colder. What had awoken him? He looked down at John's sleeping from. For a moment he forgot about the events of the evening, studying John's relaxed facial features. He traced a wrinkle or two with his forefinger. "I am most likely the cause for the wrinkles and gray hair," Sherlock whispered aloud. Though the gray looked sexy as hell he frowned at its implication. John was aging. "Aging is normal," Sherlock mused, then fought down a wave of panic when he thought of the human degeneration process eroding his own body as well as John's. A surge of anger coursed through his veins at the realization that he couldn't protect John from everything. A proper genius was no match for the ravages of time. "Someday we will both die, but do not fear for I will follow you into the dark," Sherlock vowed aloud, covering John's jawline with kisses.

A creak just outside the door made Sherlock tense. The way the wooden floor boards sounded told him who it was, Mycroft.

"Come in," Sherlock hissed grabbing the gun. As soon as Mycroft entered the room he pulled the hammer back. "Get out and leave us alone, or I'll be forced to splatter your brains across my periodic table of elements."

Mycroft glanced at the chart and sighed. "Must you always be so dramatic, brother mine?"

"Sod off. Do you know that those animals from MI6 almost killed John? They did kill Alex." Sherlock growled, lining up Mycroft in his sights once again.

"Sherlock, I had no idea what was happening until it was too late." Mycroft said, running a hand across his face.

"Liar!" Sherlock screamed.

John stirred in his arms and muttered. "What's going on?"

"Sssh, nothing. Everything's fine. Go back to sleep, John," Sherlock crooned a kiss on John's forehead.

"Okay," John murmured in a sing song voice. Then he laid his head back down on Sherlock's chest.

"Sherlock, these men are dangerous. Let me help you. I can get you and John out of the country for a while," Mycroft pleaded. "Haven't I always been there for you?"

Sherlock looked up at Mycroft with red-rimmed eyes. "No, not always."

"When?" Mycroft challenged.

Sherlock's teeth began to chatter from stress and rage. "You let Redbeard die but worst of all you failed to protect me from…those animals you called friends."

Mycroft's face paled. "Sherlock, I had no idea that they would abuse you in such a manner. Rest assured they have all paid for their dastardly deeds."

Tears ran down Sherlock's face. "Dastardly deeds? Is that what you call the rape of a 10-year-old boy? They took a piece of my soul that day, Mycroft. Sometimes I think you left me there alone on purpose. Getting your cigarettes was more important than protecting me. Did you know what they were going to do? For Christ's sake they didn't even bother to use lubricant. Never mind your actions come too little too late brother mine, now get out. Rest assured I will pull the trigger and kill you if I have to."

Mycroft's features softened and he whispered, "Sherlock, I'm so sorry that I failed you, but that was then. This is now. Where will you go, Sherlock? How can you protect John without my help?"

Sherlock pulled John closer. "Get out. John and I are no longer your concern."

Mycroft paused and looked down at the ground. He started to say something then clamped his lips shut and left. Sherlock fought down the nausea that threatened to overwhelm him. How was he going to protect John and himself from one of the most powerful organizations in the world?


	12. Chapter 12

Sherlock watched John while he slept. He looked peaceful. Beautiful. _Too beautiful for this ugly world,_ he thought. Sensing Sherlock's gaze, John opened his eyes, the pupils still dilated from medication.

"John, how are you feeling?" he asked, using his hangover voice.

John smiled, tears forming in his eyes. "I'll bounce back." He put his head in his hands, then looked back up at Sherlock. "My head feels really fuzzy. Wait a minute? Did you give me a roofie?"

Sherlock smiled, while he seductively ran his fingers along John's jaw. "Yes."

John leaned into his touch. "Did you take advantage of me?"

Sherlock pressed his hands around John's shoulders, massaging away unresolved tension. "No, I prefer you to be awake when I do."

John's smile faded when the events of the previous night flooded his consciousness. He swallowed a few times, then swore, running to the bathroom where he vomited. Sherlock followed him, waiting just outside like Redbeard used to do when he himself fell ill, bowing his head when John's weeping threatened to overwhelm him. _I wonder if this is what Redbeard felt like,_ he thought in despair when John moaned a few times.

"Sherlock, you can come in. I know you're there, it's alright please…I need you."

Sherlock opened the door, ignoring the sour smell of vomit, walking over to where John leaned against the towel rack. "Sherlock, will you help me into the shower? I feel a little dizzy."

Sherlock nodded, taking over, checking the temperature of the water, grabbing a clean towel, and slipping John's pants down. Even battered and bruised, his groin twitched at the sight of John's beautiful cock dangling in front of him.

John followed his gaze, giving Sherlock a wan smile. "I don't think John Jr. is up for playing today."

Sherlock licked his lips, unable to speak while he swallowed down the water that filled his mouth when he looked between John's legs. He glanced down at the floor tiles, then helped him into the shower. He started to turn away, then John called him back.

"Sherlock, join me…please."

Sherlock took off his shirt, and trousers in such a hurry that the pants became tangled up with his socks and shoes. He hopped around for a few moments, then regained his balance by plopping down on the toilet seat with a thud. John watched his entrance with a mixture of awe and dread. _What would Sherlock think of him, if he lost it again. How could he erase the sights and sounds from last night? It had been worse than Afghanistan, that had been war and soldiers died. Last night…was torture of the most heinous sort. The trunk…oh god…the trunk…_

Sherlock caught John just before he hit the floor. He sagged in his arms, then looked up at him. "Sherlock, let me suck you off," he whispered.

"What? John, I don't think this is the right time. I mean…" His voice trailed off when John ran his tongue along his shaft.

"Assume the position, Sherlock. I need something to erase the fucked up images that keep tormenting me. I need to taste you. I need to swallow you, while I finger you. Please let me drink you down."

It felt wrong, but he ceased to question it when John's lips enclosed around him, his short but thick fingers scissoring inside until they both moaned.

Sherlock struggled to keep his balance. He pressed his elbows up against the shower tiles while John worked him, front to back, front to back, his motions hard and deep.

"John…John…, I'm starting to….to…"

John stopped his movements. "Sherlock, I'm a bloody Doctor, I know what you're about to do. Get on with it. I'm salivating in anticipation of your load." Then he resumed his activities, his eyes never leaving Sherlock's face.

Danny shivered. His world had ended. He was a dead man walking, only going through the motions of living because he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't sleep. Every time he closed his eyes all he could see was Alex's mutilated face looking back at him. The once beautiful eyes, blank and unseeing devoid of life. _Oh god, Alex,_ Danny thought and wept again. He watched as the joint he was holding burnt itself down to a nub, failing his expectation of its power to relax.

He looked down at the small object he had taken from Alex's computer and stuffed it into its new hiding place. _What could be so important about it and how could it justify the torture of his beloved?_ Tears burned in Danny's eyes while he inhaled the last drag from the twisted cigarette, its heat dissipating in one last sting against his fingertips. _If it's war they want, then it's war that they're going to get,_ he thought.

"It's time to go, John," Sherlock said, hiding the newspaper behind his back.

"I wanted to take the paper with me. It might be the last time I get to see a London paper for a while." Then John looked around the room in confusion. "Maybe, Mrs. Hudson has it?"

"John, we need to go now…please."

John shrugged. "Okay fine, let's go."

Sherlock nudged John forward, then stopped. "The limo is waiting outside, you go ahead. I'll be along in a minute." When Sherlock was convinced that John had gone outside, he took the paper in his hands and threw in into the fire. It made a slight crackling sound as the fire began to lick away the headlines. **Suspect Being Questioned in the Murder of Alistair** [j1] **…**

The rest of the headline burned away, while Sherlock watched its demise. John must be protected at all costs. With one backward glance and a wave to Mrs. Hudson, he left Baker Street.

The ride to the Airport was silent. Sherlock looked over at John in grief, watching him struggle with the confines of being in the back seat of the limo.

"Sherlock, we have to pull over. I'm going to puke," he gasped. The vehicle had just come to a stop, when he rolled down the window, gagging, then finally vomiting all down the side of the limo door. "Fuck, I'm sorry." His voice was shaky, full of tears and madness.

Sherlock leaned over, pulling John back in through the window. John lay in his arms, twisting his face to the side to avoid direct eye contact. "John, stop it look at me."

John obeyed, his face flushed from exertion and embarrassment. "Sherlock, I can't do this…I just can't."

Fear clutched at Sherlock's heart, but as usual he kept his own consul, bottling it up inside to be released at a more opportune time. Then he took a handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped John's face off. "Stick out your tongue."

"Why? What are you going to do?" John asked while he attempted to squirm out of Sherlock's grasp.

"Do it." Sherlock ordered.

John sighed, then stuck out his tongue, while Sherlock cleaned it off with the clean side of the handkerchief. Once done he grabbed the back of John's neck and began to kiss him. His tongue licked the outside of his lips begging for entrance. When John's lips parted, he darted in, making suggestive spearing motions.

"Umm, you had one of Mrs. Hudson's tea biscuits and some Earl Grey with a bit of lemon and milk." Sherlock then leaned his head back, licking his upper lip in slow circular motions, while straddling John in between his thighs.

John laughed. It was a strange sound; he hadn't heard in what felt like days. "Sherlock, you're sick, very, very sick."

Sherlock smiled, pulling up on John's belt. "You have no idea just how much, Dear Doctor. When you are feeling better I'm going to tease you until you get a raging case of blue bell balls, then I'm going to fuck you like a rabbit."

John was hysterical by this time, laughing, and coughing. "Sherlock, great now I have to pee."

Sherlock sat up in one quick motion. "Do it. Pee your pants while I watch."

John stopped laughing. "Jesus, you're kinky."

"Please…", Sherlock begged.

"No, I won't." John then folded his arms across his chest.

Sherlock sighed. "Okay, fine." Then he reached into a compartment and handed John a porta potty.

John grabbed it, then undid his pants and peed in the pot. When he was done Sherlock took the pot, sniffing and inspecting the contents.

"Oh, for god's sake," John said then rolled down the window, tossing the contents out. Sherlock leaned back, pouting. "Sherlock, tell me the truth you were going to drink it weren't you?"

Sherlock looked away, then started to laugh. John stashed the potty back in its compartment, then leaned back into Sherlock's arms. "Thank you, Sherlock, I love you."

Sherlock traced John's face with his fingertips, until his eyelids began to flutter, only when they closed did he whisper back. "I love you too."


	13. Chapter 13

_When did, life become so complicated?_ Sherlock thought while he watched a group of children play. Their laughter a blight upon his overtaxed senses. Even before John reached his side, Sherlock knew he was there.

John looked down at the children as well. "It makes me wish I was a kid again. What about you?"

Sherlock shivered when he recalled his abysmal childhood. "No, never would I wish to go back to that state of ignorance."

John chuckled, then put his face against Sherlock's neck. "Sherlock, what are we going to do?"

"We're going to stay here until it's safe to go home."

John nuzzled his unshaven face against Sherlock's skin, listening to the scratching sound it made. "And where is here?"

"My apartment in Budapest."

"Budapest? Wait, you have an apartment in Budapest?"

"Actually, it's pronounced Budapesht. Buda and Pest are two different cities, and I have apartments all over the world."

"Wow, just how rich are you?"

Sherlock smiled. "Let's just say I have deep pockets. People the world over owe me and it's time to collect."

John took a deep breath, feeling like the walls were closing in on him. He looked down, struggling to maintain his composure.

"John, let's go out on the terrace. The view is spectacular." Sherlock then held out his hand.

John took it grateful that sometimes Sherlock was sensitive to the needs of others. _Sociopath, my ass, he's a bloody intuitive genius and for reasons I can't fathom he loves me._

Once outside, John lay down on a chaise lounge. He shivered. "It's a little cold out here."

Sherlock held up one finger, then left coming back a few moments later. He then tucked a heated blanket around John. "Better?"

Chill bumps, covered his arms and legs as he snuggled down into the warm folds of material. "This feels marvelous. There's room for two. Care to join me?"

Sherlock licked his lips in indecision. _It would be wonderful to make love to John, out in the open under a warm blanket. But no, I can't, not when there's work to be done._ "Rest, I'll come back and check on you later. Are you hungry?"

The thought of food made John want to hurl again. "No."

Sherlock frowned. _This wasn't good, John was always hungry._ "You're going to dry heave again, if you don't have something. I'll have room service send up some broth."

"Room service? I thought this was your apartment?"

Sherlock ruffled his fingers through John's hair. "It is, but it's also a Five Star Hotel and I own the penthouse."

John smiled, then leaned back. "Posh, bastard."

Sherlock chuckled, a low purring sound that gave John more chill bumps than the warm blanket had, a different kind of heat that started in his belly and all the way to his cheeks.

Sherlock, watched John's face flush, wanting to gather him close crying until they both fell asleep. _Sociopaths don't cry brother mine…_ He then turned away and went inside, away from John and the sunlight.

John gasped, knowing that soon the trunk, his coffin would be devoid of oxygen. _God, help me,_ he screamed. His eyes flew open. He was out in the open, lying in a deck chair.

Sherlock heard John scream and was by his side in an instant. "John, it's alright. You're fine. I'm here."

John looked up into Sherlock's beautiful green eyes, shivering when he thought of Alex's. The capillaries must have burst when he ran out of oxygen, destroying their brilliance. _God._ He then took Sherlock's hand. "It's okay. I'm fine. Maybe I should check my phone messages."

Sherlock frowned. "John, we've had to go dark."

"You mean we can't even go on the internet?"

"Until I set up an app that keeps us from being traced, no."

John sighed. "Okay, what next then?"

"The front desk called while you were resting. My equipment is here. I'm just going to run down and get it, then I'll be right up."

John scowled. "Sherlock, I'm fine, or I will be. Just another little cluster fuck to set me back, but I'm resilient."

Sherlock tussled John's hair. "Yes, you are. Now, don't open the door for anyone."

"Yes, Dad."

Sherlock bent down, sucking John's lower lip between his own. "That's Daddy, to you."

John laughed, then entwined his own fingers in Sherlock's, focusing on tightening the grip of bone and sinew until their digits locked together. No words were spoken, as their flesh changed colors, first natural, then red, then white. When they finally let go John mourned the loss of Sherlock's touch.

Sherlock swallowed down the lump in his throat, dreading to leave John alone. "John, I'll be right back." Then he left before John could see the tears coursing down his cheeks. _John, you are my first thought every morning and my last thought every night. Always._ _You…_ Then he let his introspections float away like chaff in the wind.

After Sherlock left, John got up went inside and began to pace, grimacing at the bowl of fruit that lay neatly on a table. _Rich posh people and their bloody fruit baskets. Why couldn't they leave something useful, like a bottle of scotch?_ John's mouth watered at the thought of a good drink and he began to search the room for the bar. Once located he walked over, ignoring the crystal drinking glasses and drank straight from the bottle. _Fuck that feels good,_ he thought when the alcohol burned its way down to his stomach. Feeling calm for the first time in what felt like days, he noticed his surroundings, noting the huge flat screen T.V. in the center of the room. He sighed, sat down and began to channel surf, frowning when all news stations were blocked. _What the bloody hell is Sherlock trying to hide from me? Has London been bombed off the face of the earth?_

He sighed again, then smiled, making his way to the phone. When he picked up the receiver, a nasal voice answered. "What can we assist you with Mr. Holmes?"

John mimed the snooty voice, then said, "I'd like a London Paper brought up please."

"Which one Mr. Holmes?"

"The Daily Mirror, please."

A few moments later there was a knock on the door. John looked through the peep hole, then took the paper that a young man held out to him. He looked in the pockets of his robe. "Umm, I don't have any currency on me."

The young man smiled. "No need Sir, tips are included in the monthly rent."

John shut the door, muttering, "Of course they are." Then he sat down to read the paper. "Oh my god," he whispered aloud when he saw the headlines.

 **Danny Holt: The Shadowy Double Life of Alistair Turner**


	14. Chapter 14

When Sherlock entered the room, John threw the paper to the ground, closing the space between them in an instant. "Sherlock, how could you keep this from me?" he shouted, pointing to the crumpled up newspaper.

"John, there's nothing we can do to help Danny."

"Nothing we can do? How can you say that when we both know he's innocent?"

"John, there are forces at work here that make it impossible to help him. He's already marked for death. It's all a matter of time."

John kicked at the newspaper, then picked up his glass of scotch and threw it across the room. "Fuck this and fuck you, "he shouted.

"John, I'm not the one who got us involved in this."

"Oh, now you're blaming me, are you? You are the one who had to snoop around Alistair's work and what about Mycroft? Any other time he would be sticking his neck out to get involved and now he just disappears." John's chest felt tight. _Any minute I'm going to hyperventilate. I'm losing control. I have to stop this._ He continued ranting and raving until he no longer made any sense. "Why aren't you saying anything?"

Sherlock looked back at him, his eyes wide, unsure of himself and the situation. John smirked, then threw another glass against the wall. "Nothing to say? How about I break everything in this flat? How about that?" he, screamed then proceeded to break another glass.

When he picked up the crystal decanter, Sherlock stopped him. "Ah John, that's Waterford, it's worth a fortune."

John's eyes had a crazed look in them. "Oh, really?" Then he took the decanter and hoisted it above his head, smashing against the wall.

Sherlock remained silent, while John surveyed the damaged around him. "Oh god, Sherlock, what have I done? I've got to clean this up." Then he bent down and began to pick up the shards of glass.

"John, stop, let me call someone to clean this up, you're going to cut yourself," Sherlock whispered, attempting to keep the dangerous shards away from John's tender flesh by laying his hand on John's arm.

"Ouch, damn it to hell," John swore, when a thin piece of crystal sliced through his finger. He watched in silence until the cut became more pronounced, not uttering a word when a thick ribbon of blood ran down his hand, dripping on to the plush carpet beneath his feet.

Sherlock ran to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels. He came back a few moments later, and held a wad of them over John's hand. "John, come and sit down."

John nodded, mumbling how sorry he was. "I'll pay for the damage."

Sherlock chuckled, "I doubt your pension will cover it, but no matter I'll just charge it to Mycroft's account."

John looked at Sherlock, then began to laugh. Sherlock looked back at him with a tentative smile, then began to laugh as well. When their mirth dissipated, John laid his head on Sherlock's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Sherlock held John close, kissing the top of his head. "Sssh, John, everything is going to be alright. Now let's take a look at that hand."

Sherlock's face paled, when he looked at the blood soaked paper towel that was wrapped around John's hand. "John, that's an awful lot of blood. Do you think it's going to need stiches?"

John peeled away the bloody paper layers, then inspected the wound. "No, it should be okay."

Sherlock felt sick, when John pulled a few clean paper towels from the stack and held them to his hand. "Sherlock, don't tell me that a little blood is going to send you over the edge? You've microwaved body parts, put a human head in the fridge, and dismembered and mutilated more corpses that I care to count."

A flush crept up Sherlock's neck, then to his cheeks. "Those were just corpses. They weren't…you."

"Oh really, you would be the first one to help dissect me if I died."

"Yes, I suppose I would cut out all of your best parts and save them in the fridge, until I died of course and then my heart and head would be sitting along side yours."

John began to snicker. "Coming from anyone else, that would be the most ghoulish thing ever, but coming from you, it is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me. I love you too, Sherlock." Sherlock bent his head down, then gave him a shy look. John sighed, then began to play with the curls behind Sherlock's ear. "Now, tell me what this is all about."

"Alastair was working on an algorithm that would be able to pinpoint whether or not someone was telling the truth based on mathematical projection of the subject's facial expressions."

"So, if this algorithm worked no one would be able to lie?"

Sherlock looked down at his hands. "If it worked the way Alastair figured it would, then yes."

"Jesus, peace negotiations all over the world would break down, business deals would falter, our whole society is based on the ability to lie. How would we be able to communicate without the ability to resort to subterfuge?"

"I have put you in terrible danger by just telling you the truth. Mycroft is attempting to convince the organization that murdered Alex that you and I know don't know the nature of what he was working on. He is going to have to call in a lot of favors. If it were just me, I would take on some sort of undercover mission with little chance of survival, but I want you to be safe."

John took Sherlock's hand in his own. "I don't like the way you are ready to throw away your life. If anything were to happen to you, it would kill me. Quit trying to be a hero."

Sherlock frowned. "John, you know I'm not a hero, besides if I were dead, then you would be dead too. They would never let us go. If it makes you feel any better Lestrade is working to get the murder charges against Danny, dropped, but in the meantime, he's on his own."

"Poor Danny, are you sure there's nothing more we can do?"

Sherlock gazed into John's deep, blue eyes, then looked down. "John, he's a dead man walking. No one can help him, not even Mycroft."

Tears brimmed in John's eyes. "Jesus, this is really fucked up. All he did was fall in love."

Sherlock traced one of John's tears with his index finger. "He fell in love with a dangerous man that harbored secrets."

"And he paid the ultimate price and died for it."

"Caring is not an advantage, John."

John grasped Sherlock's hand in his own. "Caring is the only advantage we have, Sherlock. I pity Danny. Now that he's alone, he has no protection. He must be devastated."

Danny left the police station, feeling battered and alone. _Alex, what happened? Why, were you murdered? Why do the police think I did it? Why did they take a blood sample? Scotty, I must go to Scotty, he will know what to do. Together we can find out who did this and bring them to justice._


	15. Chapter 15

John watched Sherlock while he sat in front of his laptop, the ghostly glow illuminating his features to perfection.

"God, you look sexy when you're incognito."

Sherlock fixed his gaze upon John's lips. "Nonsense, John quit being dramatic. Being off the grid doesn't alter my appearance."

"Oh yeah?" John then bent down and began to nibble on his neck.

"Stop it, John, I'm trying to work."

"So, am I," John whispered, flicking his tongue in and out of Sherlock's ear.

Sherlock pulled away. "John, quit it."

"Make me," John challenged, running his fingers across Sherlock's nubs, playing with them until they hardened.

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, hissing when John's tongue began to explore where his fingers had been. "Well, it's apparent that your PTSD hasn't impacted your libido in a negative manner."

John gave him a feral look. "Take off your pants, Sherlock." Sherlock hesitated until John's voice took on a strict tone. "Do it now." He then undid his trousers, kicking out of them and his pants.

John's mouth watered, looking at the sight before him. "Sherlock, I want to bottom for you and I want it hard. Be right back." A few moments later he returned and handed Sherlock a condom, while he lubed up.

"Don't you want to take this to the bedroom?"

John was already starting to get off with his own probing but he stopped and stared at Sherlock. "No, I want it here on the floor. I want the rough stuff."

Sherlock swallowed. John's definition of rough stuff could be rough indeed. _I don't want to hurt him, but god look at him._ John then pulled him out of the chair with enough force to make his teeth rattle. Then he lay on his back, waiting. _Holy fuck, he looks hot._

John spread his legs further apart, then beckoned Sherlock forward. When Sherlock's fingers made their way towards their puckered target, John stopped him. "Nope, no prep, just get to it."

"At least let me slip my tongue in. You know how I love it."

"Fine, I hope you like the taste of lube, because I'm not wiping it off."

Sherlock chuckled. "It's peach flavored."

"Really? How did you find out that such a product existed?"

"I found it in Mrs. Hudson's things, when I was sneaking around her flat."

"Kinky bastard, now get on with it."

Sherlock smiled, then began to feast. He could do this all day, but John was anxious for something that would break through the barriers of his lust and fear. Sitting up he cuffed Sherlock lightly around the ears. "Stop, fooling around and get to it."

Sherlock smiled again, knowing that he could refuse John nothing. Sinking inside his warmth, he savored every moment, even when John called him names, begging for a deeper thrust. Soon all rational thought left his analytical mind, while he reveled in the sound of suction, and the scent of sweat and sex.

John lay on his back, ignoring the rug when it chaffed his skin, only crying out when his body became rigid. "Yes, Yes, Sherlock, oh fuuuuuuuuck."

When Sherlock felt John's come hit his stomach, it drove him over the edge to his own climax. He then collapsed, shaking. John watched in fascination when he smeared his fingers across his abdomen, then brought them to his lips for a taste, groaning while he sucked them clean.

"So, you like the taste of your Doctor?"

"Yesssss," Sherlock answered, burrowing his face into the carpet for more olfactory sensations.

John stroked Sherlock's back, until he raised his hips up in the air like a cat, shamelessly exposing his ass. "Sherlock, I'm not superman, but I'll fondle you with finger play. Will that suit you?"

"Umm, yes, that would be lovely, Doctor." John smiled while he fondled his detective, loving how he craved cuddling and exploration after sex. _God, I love him so much it hurts. What if it had been him in the trunk_ _instead of Alex? I would have had to watch my precious Sherlock die. Other than a suicide murder pack how can I make sure that we will always be together even in death?_ Sherlock whined when his fingers stopped moving. "Okay, why don't we take this to the bedroom?"

Sherlock smiled, that special smile that he reserved for his Doctor, then ducked his head to the side in a coquettish movement. "Lead on my dear Doctor."

John held out his hand, knowing that after topping Sherlock would want to be snuggled. _He acts so detached, yet he is one of the most sensitive individuals I have ever known._

When they reached the bedroom, Sherlock took John's hands. "I didn't hurt you did I?"

"Yes, but it was just what I needed," John whispered, kissing his fingertips.

Danny wept in Scotty's arms, not believing that any person or organization could be so monstrous. "Scotty, they injected me with the Aids virus. They've probably tampered with your medication as well and that's why your depression has been coming back in full force."

Scotty held Danny's trembling body in his arms, wondering how they were both going to survive this hell.

Sherlock stepped out of the shower, then peeked into the bedroom where John lay sleeping. _Poor darling, at least he's resting soundly. Although his ass is going to be sore from the trouncing I gave it._ Then he smiled at the memory of John's body underneath his own, warm, writhing, and tight. The smile remained plastered on his face until he turned on his laptop and checked his emails. He shuddered when he read one of them. It was from Mycroft.

 **Brother Mine, there is a phone that will be delivered to you this afternoon. When you receive, it follow the instructions and whatever you do trust no one.**

Sherlock sighed. _Frigging drama queen. What does he mean by trust no one?_ He then looked around the room and shivered, feeling as if the walls were closing in on him and John. _What sort of game is this? It's a game of death that I'm not sure I want to play. The stakes are too high, but now that the ball is in motion we have no choice but to see it through._


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock listened to the phone message again, palming his face in a futile effort to keep his analytical thoughts intact.

"Sherlock?"

Sherlock whirled around to see John standing behind him.

"God, Sherlock what is it?"

Sherlock looked down, hiding his tear-filled eyes. "Scotty's dead and Danny's been injected with the Aids virus."

"Jesus, oh god, what kind of monsters are we dealing with?"

Sherlock shook his head. "We won't be safe here for much longer. I have another place in Augsburg."

"Sherlock, we can't keep running. We have to put a stop to this." Then he laid his head against Sherlock's shoulder.

"I don't think we can beat this. They will use us against each other. They will torture one or both of us while the other one watches. John, I can't bear it."

John took Sherlock's hands in his own. "We can do anything if we stick together. Now go to your mind palace and find us a way out of this mess."

Sherlock grinned, thinking that John could bring him back from the brink of death if need be—his savior. "Perhaps we should rest here for a few days, until you're better."

John frowned. "I won't be better for a long time but I will push on because I'm a soldier."

Sherlock pulled him in close. "Yes, you are."

John looked over at Sherlock. "What?" Sherlock asked.

John smiled and shook his head. "I was just thinking that you look good as a platinum blonde."

"And you look adorable as a brunette with blonde streaks. Hmm, I wonder if blondes really have more fun?"

They both stood side by side looking at each other's reflection in the mirror. Sherlock's hair hand been straightened, then conditioned with a wax that made his hair shine like an artic fox's. John's hair was cut in layers, then spiked at the top. John looked over and stroked Sherlock's wrist. "Your eyes look so green. Now let's test your hypothesis."

"What hypothesis is that?"

"Do blondes have more fun?"

"John, a hypothesis is a proposed evaluation made based on limited evidence as a starting point for further investigation."

John gave him a suggestive wink, pulling his hips closer to his own. "Then let's start investigating, shall we?"

Sherlock attempted to remain calm, but his breath caught in his throat when John snaked his hand in lazy circles around his pelvic area. "Is this a good place to begin?"

"Yesss."

Then John began to lick his throat. "Is this more fun? Shall we explore in order to garner more evidence?"

Sherlock sank to the ground, holding out his arms and spreading his legs. John smiled, then froze. "Sherlock, you look too cramped, get up." Then his chest tightened when he thought of Alex, running out of air in that accursed trunk.

Sherlock got up and held John in his arms. "John, it's alright you're just having a panic attack. Come to bed with me."

John began to pace in circles. "No, no I can't, Sherlock."

Sherlock left, then came back a few minutes later with a glass of water and a pill. "Here take this."

John looked at the pill, attempting to identify the pharmaceutical number. "You won't find a number; it's new. Trust me John, take the pill, or should I wrap it in a roll of meat to disguise it."

John raised an eyebrow. "What's in it?"

"The meat?" Sherlock whispered, leading John to the bedroom.

"No, the damn pill."

"Here let me alleviate your fears. I'll take one too." Then he popped the pill in his mouth, making a show of swallowing it.

"That's no testimony, you'll take anything. Is this thing even legal?" John asked, turning it around in his fingers.

Sherlock laughed. "In most countries, no. Come on, John, take the pill."

He grimaced when another wave of anxiety hit him full force. "Fine, I'll take the damn pill, but if I end up an addict it'll be on your head."

Sherlock grinned, and began to take off his clothes. "My head can take a lot of pressure, a lot of pressure."

John disrobed with little enthusiasm. "I don't feel any different and I sure as hell don't fell aroused."

"Lay back," Sherlock whispered.

John sighed, then did as he was told. Sherlock, then began to taste him. "Sherlock, that feels good, but it's no use."

"Ssh, John, listen." Then he took out his violin and began to play, swaying in time to a tune and dance of his own. John closed his eyes, letting the music drift over him. It was beautiful. It was Sherlock. He opened his eyes when the music stopped, but Sherlock kept dancing, palming his own erection. John wanted to offer to help get him off, but felt too relaxed to do anything other than lean back and enjoy the show.

The dance became more erratic, when Sherlock's body tightened. He swirled, did a pirouette or two, then fell to his knees, groaning when his release streamed away from him in long, white liquid ribbons.

"Jesus, you look like an angel." John whispered.

Sherlock smiled, then when his eyes cleared, he approached the bed, still hearing a rhythm of his own. John lay back while Sherlock hovered over him, lowering his body a little at a time until he lay across his beloved's body.

"Sherlock, you're either an angel or a devil. I can't make up my mind."

Sherlock chuckled, while he nibbled on John's neck. "Take your pick. I don't believe in either one."


	17. Chapter 17

**Augsburg, Germany**

John looked over at Sherlock in the cab on the way over to their destination. "What names are we going by, again?"

Sherlock sighed, scooting closer to him. "They only thing that bothers me about your PTSD is that your memory goes to shit. You are Jo and I am Sher pounced Cher. We are a couple that are joining the artist's colony. The only person who knows our real identity is the head of the colony, Gunter. He owes me and besides the house is technically mine."

John looked out the window then back at Sherlock. "Just how rich are you?"

Sherlock smiled. "Very. Now, I am a violinist and you are my assistant."

"That doesn't sound very useful. You're not, you're basically my idiot fuck boy."

"What?"

Sherlock laughed. "Come on, John, the outfit I picked out for you didn't tip you off?"

John looked down at the iridescent, pleather, tight shorts he wore, with matching fish net shirt and a unicorn jacket. "I feel ridiculous."

Sherlock reached over and played with John's nipple through the mesh. "You look marvelous."

"That's easy for you to say. You've got the good costume."

Sherlock smoothed the long blue velvet coat with matching silk trousers and an Armani white shirt under his fingertips. "Well, I'm the performer." The he looked over at John. "Your shorts aren't right."

John swore when Sherlock began to unbutton them. "Jesus, Sherlock, we're in a public cab for Christ's sake." Sherlock ignored him, rearranging the warm contents into a pile that made the front of the shorts pop out in an obscene bulge. "There that's better."

John opened his mouth to protest just as the cab came to a stop. "Button up, Jo, we're here."

Sherlock paid the cab drive, then helped John out. "Come Jo."

"I'm going to kill you later," John hissed in his ear.

Sherlock smirked, put on some lip gloss, slipping into character when a tall blonde Aryan man approached them. "Sher, how lovely to see you." Then he kissed Sherlock on both cheeks.

John watched Sherlock simper and preen, while Gunter complemented him. _God, he's a consummate actor. How would anyone know if he were telling the truth or not?_ Then he frowned. _How indeed?_

Sherlock pulled him forward, resting his hand on John's lower back, while his middle finger slid down and rested between his ass cheeks. "Gunter, this is Jo, my assistant."

"Oh my, he is so cute. I could just eat him up."

Sherlock pulled him closer. "Sorry, he's all mine, unless Jo is willing to give out seconds." John's eyes grew wide. "Oh, don't worry pet, the only one that will be feasting off you is me."

Gunter chuckled then called for someone to show them to their room. Sherlock smiled at John's flushed face, keeping his fingers right where they were while the ascended a staircase. When they were alone in the room, Sherlock threw himself on the bed and began to laugh.

John kicked the edge of the bed. "This is not funny, Sherlock. You get to play the genius while I am just your little plaything."

Sherlock's expression sobered. "You are everything to me, but this cover makes you seem vapid. You will be able to observe while I am performing. Now come sit on my lap."

John sighed. "You know, sometimes I regret activating your libido. You're worse than a rabbit."

Sherlock wriggled his nose. "Then give the bunny what it wants."

"No, I'm not playing right now. I'm tired."

"But what will bunny do?"

"Bunny can go fuck himself."

Sherlock's shoulders drooped. "But that's not as much fun." Then he sat up straight. "You're right we have to keep focused. It's just that you in those tight shorts makes my thinking go straight between my legs. I can't even do simple math in my head right now."

John laughed, while he peeled off his shorts. "That is probably one of the nicest things you have ever said to me."

Sherlock grinned. "Why are you taking off the shorts?"

"Because they are chafing, and I thought that bunny might want a snack so that he can think with the right head."

Sherlock flew across the room, knocking John back on to the bed. "Jesus, you're like a giant hound, bouncing all over the place. Is my flabby body still so exciting to you?"

Sherlock nodded, then put his fingers to John's lips when he started to say something. "Be quiet, I need to concentrate."

John smiled, reaching for the headboard. No one could go down, better than Sherlock. He ran his fingers through his silken, white hair, careful not to pull too hard on his sensitive hair follicles. "I love you, Sherlock."

Sherlock took a moment to grin at him, then continued with his work, loving every taste of his Doctor.

Danny sat in the limo, looking straight ahead. _I wonder if they are going to torture me? I really don't care. The thing that is going to hurt the most is the fact that I will never be able to get even with the bastards that killed Alex and Scotty. The thought of Frances meeting her end didn't bother him as much as the fact that Alex's birth mother would die as well. He would never forget the look of grief and betrayal on her face the night she set fire to the beautiful horticultural art that Alex had made from a maze of hedges on the estate he grew up on. It was gone, all of it._

Danny didn't give the man next to him an ounce of trouble, when he slipped a bag over his head. He felt himself being led down a hallway, then a chair was shoved under him, while his hands were tied behind his back. "Sit." _Like I have a choice._ The room was cold. He shivered, determined not to show fear. When the hood was taken off his head, he blinked, staring at the man in front of him. "Rich?"

"No, but I've been told I resemble him," the man answered.

"Who are you?" Danny asked.

"An interested party."

Danny folded his arms across his chest. "I'm not talking to someone that I don't know. You people are animals. Fuck off, I have nothing to say."

The man in front of him sighed. "My name is Mycroft Holmes."

Danny swallowed. "Holmes, as in Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, he's my little brother and a constant source of trouble."

"Well, I don't care who you are. I'm not talking to any of the government types that killed Alex."

Mycroft looked away. "The extraction of Alex was not an authorized one."

Tears began to stream down Danny's face. "An extraction? That's all Alex was to you people and what about Scotty? What was he?"

Mycroft met Danny's stare. "He was expendable."


	18. Chapter 18

Sherlock and John waited offstage, while a piano was moved in. The crowd clapped when a young man sat down at the keyboard. Then Sherlock whispered into John's ear. "Come love, it's our turn."

"What's with the phony accent? Who are you supposed to be Jack Sparrow?"

Sherlock swatted him on the ass. "You know you love it when we play pirate."

He opened his mouth to reply, but Sherlock had already pushed him onstage. The music dropped out of his hands and the crowd cat called, when he bent over to pick it up. Sherlock stood behind him, admiring the view with a lustful expression.

John looked back at him, knowing that not everything he conveyed was an act. _Oh, it's on you little shit._ Then he backed up, rubbing his ass along Sherlock's side like a cat. The crowd went wild. Sherlock held it together, clinging to his violin, until John pivoted his hips around the instrument, planting himself between Sherlock's legs. Sherlock's head snapped back and he took a deep breath. When he looked at John his eyes shone with desire and the excitement of the performance to come.

John looked back into the eyes of the man he loved and his breath caught in his throat. _Oh, Sherlock…_

Sherlock looked back and winked, his moment of vulnerability gone. John smiled, wishing he could freeze the previous moment. The noise of the crowd faded into the background and Sherlock moved out of his arms, put his violin to his chin, tuned to the piano and began to play, his eyes never leaving the blue ones that had captivated his soul since the first day they met.

John swallowed when Sherlock played the first few notes of Mozart's Violin Sonata in E Minor K.304. _My Favorite. I've told him many times, but is it a coincidence or does he really know that's one of my favorite pieces he's played for me?_

Sherlock closed his eyes, letting the darkness and light of Mozart's music take him, not wanting to differentiate between the two. _Let the major and minor blend, until they become an entity of their own._ Though he wanted to remain in the safe world that music offered to all whom heeded its call, he wanted John to know that this interpretation was for him and him alone. He then opened his eyes, and gave John a dark intense stare, the kind that would make his knees weak, making him want to drop his tight shorts in front of everyone. _With any luck Mozart's music will clarify my thinking processes, while John gives me the shagging of a lifetime. Seducing him is pure joy, watching his hard shell deteriorate while I devour his reserve with my mouth, my body and my soul._

John felt faint. _Jesus when he looks at me that way. I can't breathe. It's these stupid shorts. They're too tight. Damn that little fucker. He's going to get the pounding of a lifetime, but look at him. He's so soulful, so lovely, so…Sherlock._

When the last notes of the Sonata faded away, the audience sat there in stunned silence, then their temporal fragilities overtook them once more, and they began to clap, not understanding but recognizing the gift Mozart and Sherlock had given them —a taste of immortality and undying passion.

Mycroft stared at Danny, holding out his hand. "We both know what I want."

Danny sneered. "And what's that Mycroft Holmes?" Then he stood up, knowing what type of repression Mycroft suffered. He had seen it many times. A man of intellect worn down to a writhing pile of sweat and come, exchanging his soul for a chance at release. He then leaned in and whispered into his ear. "What do you want, Mycroft, drugs, sex, maybe a good hand job? I can do all those things for you and more. I've fucked a lot of people, Mycroft and I could make you shoot your load more times in one night than you thought possible. Come on, let me show you."

Mycroft closed his eyes when Danny palmed the front of his trousers, the feel of the fine linen scratching against his cock was unbearable. He reached out and grabbed Danny's thin wrist. "Are you into pain? Because I will snap your wrist like a twig if you don't stop what you're doing right now."

Danny backed away, laughing, then he stopped, dropping to the ground. "Kill me, please, you've already taken my soul."

Mycroft looked down at the young man that lay at his feet, weeping. _What must it be like to love someone like Danny did Alex?_ "Get up."

Danny twitched, then smiled. "It's alright, Mr. Holmes, just do what you've come to do. I won't turn over anything to the people who killed Alex."

Mycroft pulled his head up by the hair. "I can make your interrogation process extremely difficult."

Danny laughed. "Knock yourself out. The longer it lasts, the longer I can remember Alex. When I'm dead, who knows what lies afterwards, if anything. My only memories of him are pure torture. So, what difference does it make? Hit me with your best shot."

Mycroft was furious and he dragged Danny to the car by his hair, throwing him into the back seat. When he slid next to him, Danny surprised him by pulling him in close. He looked at Mycroft's shocked face, then began to kiss him. At first Mycroft resisted, then curiosity got the better of him and he parted his lips. Once his tongue gained entrance he devoured Mycroft, until they both drew apart panting.

Danny's eyes never left Mycroft's while he undid his trousers, then pulled down his pants. Mycroft closed his eyes, then leaned back, enjoying the skill of Danny's tongue. It felt good to surrender and come in another man's mouth.

Mycroft looked down at Danny in shock, wanting more. "Do you have a condom on you?"

Danny's eyes shone, then he looked down. "I still have enough integrity in me to say no."

Mycroft pulled up his pants, then his trousers, relieved the spell was over. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Danny gave him a soulful look. "You should know; it's your people that injected me with the AIDS virus."

Mycroft looked shocked. "What?"

Danny eyes burned with an inner turmoil that made Mycroft recoil. "You didn't know?"

"You must be mistaken, but I am going to check your story and heaven help you if you're lying." Then he pulled apart the partition that separated them from the driver, gave an order leaning back in the seat. He then turned to Danny, slipping the hood on once more.

Danny closed his eyes, letting stress and the lack of food lull him to sleep, not even flinching when Mycroft jabbed a needle in his arm.


	19. Chapter 19

Mycroft looked down at the young man that stirred in his arms, appalled at what had been done to him. He then scooped him and carried him inside. Danny moaned, and he ran his fingers through the fine hair that covered his eyes. _Those beautiful eyes. I dread their beauty. Am I getting soft? Could it be that I am becoming attached to this person? No, he's a recovering addict with the AIDS virus. He's weak, weak like Sherlock. His attachment and loyalty to Alex will get him killed. Will I have to pull the trigger or will I just hand him over to be tortured like I have others? What's so special about Danny?_ Then he deposited Danny on the bed, covering him with a plush comforter.

Danny's luminous eyes opened and he stared up at Mycroft. "What is this? Where am I?"

Mycroft swallowed. "Rest, you must be hungry. What do you want me to have brought up to you?"

Danny knew when someone wanted to shag him and though Mycroft's face remained impassive, his body language betrayed him. He stood leaning to one side, balancing on the handle of an umbrella, jamming the shaft into the floor, his left leg crossed over the back so that his knee was bent, pointing to the side. One push and he would fall to the ground like a house of cards. His posture was precarious—waiting, waiting for someone to relieve the loneliness that secluded him from the outside world. Danny smiled. "I'm not hungry. I ate in the car."

Mycroft shifted his stance. "Very funny. I'll have some soup sent up."

Danny burrowed under the covers, pulling them up to just underneath his nose. "You can't make me eat. In fact, you can't make me do anything. I thought I could bring down the people that killed Alex, but I can't can I?"

Mycroft looked down at the ground then back into the haunting green eyes that stared back at him. "No."

John smiled, letting the warm water from the shower run down his back. It stung in some places, but it was worth it. Sherlock had hustled him upstairs after the concert, not waiting for the door to shut before he yanked his zipper down. "John, shorts off now, then get down on all fours. I'm topping."

While he was struggling with the button of the shorts, Sherlock came up behind him, wiggling his long, fingers into the waist band and along the top of his crack.

"Jesus, Sherlock, you're making the waist band dig into my pelvis. It hurts like holy fuck. Hang on." He then released the top button while Sherlock jerked the shorts down in one movement.

"Push your knees further apart, John." Then he slathered John up with lube. "Are you okay without the girly foreplay?"

John laughed, when Sherlock eased a long finger in. "You're the one who has to be caressed and held. I've always liked it deep and hard."

Sherlock jerked his finger out. "Fine, just for that I'm going to make you scream loud enough for all of Bavaria to hear you."

John laughed again, then stopped when Sherlock pulled his cheeks apart, barely giving him time to adjust before he thrust in. "Oh God, Sherlock, that's it, harder, deeper, now. Oh, uggg, fuck, you little shit don't stop now. Don't ease up."

"Scream my name, John."

"Sherlock, Sherlock, SHERLOCK….I'm not going to last."

"Not my problem. I don't care how long you last. I just need you to make a lot of noise." Then he moved faster, until they both began to grunt and moan, blowing his load a few seconds before John.

John let himself be flipped on his back without a fight, while Sherlock sucked on the angry, looking red end of his cock. "Come on, John, I'm thirsty, I need it now."

"Oh, shit, here it comes," John shouted, then his hips began to spasm and Sherlock gurgled in delight at the liquid refreshment that John spewed into his mouth. He then rested one hand on John's stomach, while he reached behind him with the other.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Turning off the microphone on my phone."

"Jesus, you recorded us?"

"Yep, it will be a perfect cover for us."

"A perfect cover for what?"

"John, I've apparently fucked your brains out because you can't think worth a damn."

"I don't understand. What the hell's going on?"

"Get in the shower, then after we've cleaned up, we're going to play our fuck session back while we go into the other room and so some research. Stop staring, get on with it. Crap, it's going to take forever to clean up my phone, come is the hardest thing to wipe off, much harder than blood."

John smiled, and started to say something, putting his finger up to his lips, then stopping again. "You are such a ghoul. How come you didn't let me top?"

"Because the pitch of your screams carry further than mine. Now get in the shower, fuck toy."

John shook his head, then made his way to the bathroom.

John looked at the pink velvet trousers with a matching thong that Sherlock had laid out for him. _He's enjoying this way too much. The little prick._ "Hey, Sherlock where is the shirt?"

"I want you bear chested and John?"

"Yes?"

"Would you be open to getting your nipples pierced?"

"Nope, absolutely not."

"What about just one?"

"NO."

"Fine, just get in here."

John sighed, then slipped into the thong and trousers. _Hmm, these are pretty comfortable, I could get used to them. John, listen to yourself. Sherlock really did fuck your brains out._

When he entered the next room, Sherlock was all business. He put his finger to his lips, played back their audio sex recording, then walked over to a wall, pulled open a secret door, motioning for John to follow him.

 _What's he got us into now?_ When he noticed how small the space was, John balked. "Sherlock, I can't go in there. It's too confining." He expected Sherlock to poke fun, but instead Sherlock just took his hand. "It's alright, John, close your eyes. Once we get through the tunnel, we will be in a bigger space."

He nodded, closed his eyes, then took Sherlock's hand.


	20. Chapter 20

Danny ladled a spoonful of soup into his mouth, then gagged. _I can't eat. I won't eat. God, I've lost._

Mycroft tapped on the door, then eased his way in, looking at Danny. "Isn't the soup to your liking?"

"Mycroft, I'm done."

"What do you mean, done?"

"Done, as in finished. I thought I wanted revenge, but now I don't know, I'm just numb."

Mycroft looked at him in alarm. He had seen that look before and it boded ill. Danny was giving up. Though he attempted to convince himself that he just needed the cipher Alex had hidden, he wanted Danny to…to live. He sat down on the bed next to him. "Danny…I…"

He looked up at Mycroft. "I destroyed the cipher. I'm of no use to you."

Mycroft's heart pounded in his chest. If what Danny said were true, then Sherlock and John were lost, and Danny was the living cipher. _I will be given orders to do what it takes to get the information they want and if I don't comply, then I will be forced to hand him over to someone that will torture him._ He shuddered, regretting the approval of such methods. They passed his desk and he had given the go ahead without a thought.

Danny leaned into his chest. "It's alright, Mycroft, do what you have to."

Without a word, he got up and left the room. _I must clear my head. I'll get a bath, then decide what to do._

A few minutes later, and Mycroft was soaking in a nice warm bath. When the door opened, he wasn't surprised to see Danny standing in the doorway. Danny smiled, and he felt his chest tighten.

Danny smiled again, then sat down on the floor beside the tub. His eyes teared up, then he reached a hand in, stroking Mycroft's stomach, letting his fingers trail downwards into the auburn next of pubic hair. "Alex, loved it when I did this. He was uptight like you." He fondled Mycroft's balls, then looked up at him. "Do you like it?"

Mycroft's wide blue eyes sought his. "What would you have me say?"

Danny slipped his hand out of the waning warmth of the water. "Nothing. We are both going to die alone, you and I. Do you think we're brave, or just too tired to change the isolation that awaits us both?"

Mycroft dried off his hands on a towel, then opened a box that rested in a porcelain corner, taking out a cigarette. "Would you like one?"

"Is it weed?"

"No."

Danny shrugged. "Fine, I'll take one."

Mycroft took one, lit it, then handed the lighter and a cigarette to Danny. Both men took a deep drag, enjoying the mouth hit, feeling their lungs expand then contract while the tobacco smoke filled their airways. "These rock. I thought Sherlock said you only smoke low tar."

Mycroft smiled, softening the hard lines of his facial expressions. "I only give Sherlock the low tar. He does enough damage to his body."

Danny studied him. "You really worry about him, don't you?"

"Yes, constantly."

"Well, you shouldn't. He has John. You and I are the ones who are going to suffer. My expiration is on the horizon, but you, you could live in your isolated hell for years. Do you want to fuck me? Because I'll let you, that is if you're not afraid that you won't get HIV."

Mycroft coughed, then coughed again. "I think not."

Danny laughed. "Yeah, it's kind of hard to fuck someone, then kill them, but you Whitehall types excel at that, right?"

Mycroft didn't answer. He continued to smoke, flicking the ashes into the tepid water, while he listened to their hiss as the water extinguished their heat.

John followed Sherlock into a room filled with all kinds of electronic equipment. Sherlock sat down, turned on a PC and waited for the screen to come up. When it did, it was black. There were no personal photos or operating system preset wall displays of outdoor scenes. It was just black. He swallowed, wondering why a black screen gave him the chills.

"We're re-routing through a server in Eastern Europe. It might take a bit. I didn't hurt you did I?" Sherlock asked.

John ruffled his curls. "No, I'm fine. What are we going to ask it?"

Sherlock frowned. "This isn't Star Trek, John, we're not going to ask it anything. I'm going to initiate contact with an informant."

"And what are you going to ask said informant?"

"Most of it would be too complicated for you to understand."

John sighed. "Of course, because anyone can get through medical school, right?"

Sherlock looked away from the screen, focusing his attention on John. "No, of course not. You're brilliant and a good lay. I can't ask for more than that. I will keep you informed."

Then he looked away and John sat in a nearby chair, knowing that he would become too immersed to converse. "Well, good to know I'm useful for something."

"John, quit fishing for compliments. It's unbecoming. Besides you know that I couldn't do this work without you. You are invaluable to me. I'd be lost without you."

John rolled his eyes. "Well, it's big of you to admit it."

Sherlock stopped tying. "John, I mean it. I would be lost without you. When you were in that trunk, I nearly…"

John put a hand on his shoulder. "I know I heard how devastated you were."

Sherlock then reached around, took John's hand and brought it to his lips, holding it close to his breast bone, while he typed one handed. Screen after screen of code flipped before them, while Sherlock read it, leaning forward every now and then to get a closer look.

John couldn't understand a word of the gibberish that appeared before him, but he could feel Sherlock's pulse beating in his neck. _I never tire of feeling the thrum of his blood, while it pumps through his veins._ He closed his eyes, concentrating, attempting to make their pulses match, it was a useless quest, but one he tried none the less.


	21. Chapter 21

Danny looked at himself in the mirror. His skin was still moist from his shower and he rubbed his hand along the glass to rub away the fog. The squeaking noise his fingers made while they banished the film made him smile, reminding him of a time when he must have been happy—maybe as a child? A tap at the door made him turn.

"Danny?"

He looked at Mycroft, making no move to hide his nakedness. With one step, he was across the room. "Mycroft, take me to bed."

Mycroft blinked and when he didn't answer, Danny reached up pulling his lips down to his own, moaning when Mycroft allowed his tongue entrance. Their tongues entwined around each other, swirling, licking, darting in and out. Mycroft drew away first, panting, then he picked him up, throwing him over his shoulder.

Danny allowed his body to relax when Mycroft deposited him on the bed. Mycroft looked down at him, then attempted to undo his tie.

"Here let me get that. Your hands are too shaky." When he undid the tie, a lump came to his throat. "Alex, taught me how to tie a tie. He was so patient. I miss him. Do you have anyone you miss, Mycroft—a lover?"

Mycroft's blue eyes looked into his own. "No."

"Christ, you're not a virgin, are you?"

Mycroft laughed. "No."

Danny smiled. "Good." Then he continued to disrobe him.

Mycroft shivered while he licked his nipples, making his way downwards. When he was naked, Danny surveyed him, taking in the alabaster skin, the auburn hair that dusted his chest and pubic area, the light patch of freckles on his shoulders, and the small white scars that covered his shoulders. He reached forward and kissed them. "What happened here?"

Mycroft closed his eyes, while he traced each one with his tongue. "I would tell you but then I'd have to kill you."

Danny stopped, his eyes clouded with lust. "You're going to kill me anyway, so who cares?"

Mycroft turned his back, revealing more scars, then reached into a drawer, grabbing a condom and a bottle of lube. Danny looked away and lay face down on the mattress, waiting for the harsh love making session, that was to come. He felt surprised when Mycroft's gentle hands ran themselves down his back over and over, until chill bumps ran up and down his arms. His lubed fingers pushing one at a time into his puckered entrance. Mycroft was taking his time, making each touch count. _It's as if he's making love to me, like this is more than just sex._

Mycroft looked down at the pliant body before him, allowing Danny to adjust while he slid his cock in an inch at a time. _God, he's so tight, so beautiful and they've damaged him. They will pay._ Then he thrust in slow movements until Danny begged him for more. Though he wanted Danny to be his, he knew that in the end it wouldn't happen. They would both have to face their futures without each other, but tonight they would make each scream and come in each other's arms.

Sherlock rubbed the back of his neck, then looked back at John. "Lestrade, is attempting to help Danny by getting the charges of murder dropped, but they've injected him with the HIV virus and there's more. Danny has destroyed the cipher and had it implanted in a chip."

John looked back at him. "Jesus Christ, where is the chip?"

"He's had it inserted in the back of his neck. Any attempt to remove it will kill him."

"Then there's no hope?"

"The information can be scanned, but it is still in his mind and now his body."

John sat down in a chair with a thump. "What the hell are we going to do?"

Sherlock began to pace. "I have no idea."

Mycroft wanted to stroke Danny's hair, banishing all his fear and despair, but he just lay his hand on the back of Danny's neck. "Are you hungry?"

Danny looked at him, his eyes full of sadness—longing. "No."

"You're just like Sherlock when it comes to eating. You need to keep your strength up."

"For more sex?"

Mycroft looked down at his hands. "No, an interrogation team is being sent out soon. Please Danny, give me something to give them."

Danny took his hand, kissing the inside of the palm. "Thank you for this, Mycroft. Let them come for me."

Mycroft jumped up. "They will torture and there will be nothing I can do about it."

Danny looked up at him. "I know, it doesn't matter. My life ended when Alex breathed his last."

Mycroft grabbed his pile of clothing up, then turned to Danny. "Do you think what we just did meant nothing to me?"

Danny shrugged, reaching for a cigarette, the flame from the lighter illuminated his face, then he took a drag, exhaled and said, "No, of course not, you're one of them."

Mycroft's face remained impassive, while a familiar mantra went through his mind. _Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side. I've lost before I've began—Danny._ "Yes, thank you for reminding me of my priorities." Then without a backwards glance, he left the room.

He went into the kitchen poured himself a stiff drink, then checked his phone messages. One from Sherlock caught his attention. He read it, then read it again. "Damn," he muttered, then ran up the stairs up to the bedroom.

The room was empty. _Damn he can't have gotten far._ "Danny, this place is a fortress, you'll never escape." He shouted aloud, looking down at the cooling, rumpled, sex scented sheets. _Danny, Danny, what have I gotten myself into? This is all Sherlock's fault. Maybe I should just let the interrogator's take them all._ Then the thought of Sherlock and how adorable he had been as a child, before tragedy marred his young life, tore at his memory, making him seethe with anger that resolved itself in regret. He would die alone, but there was no reason that Sherlock should. His brother and John could still be happy. He sighed then slipped on his pants, and a shirt, loading his gun, storing it safely in its holster. _Time to go hunting._ When he slipped into the night, he hoped that somehow, he and Sherlock had overlooked a glitch in the security system. _Wouldn't it be nice if Sherlock had made a mistake? Wouldn't it be nice if Danny could go free? Wouldn't it be nice if…_


	22. Chapter 22

Danny crept alongside the fence, hoping the carcass of the dead rabbit still lay near the fence, where he'd seen it from the drive. He took a quick inventory of his pilfered supplies, Mycroft's plush robe and terry belt, a wooden spoon, a pair of scissors, a pen light, and several rubber condoms. _Thank god, Mycroft doesn't have a latex allergy. Sheep skin wouldn't work. I need an insulator._

He then looked around, making his way towards the electrified fence and the dead rabbit. The smell of rotting flesh filled his nostrils. _Christ, it smells like I've found the poor thing._ He shone the light down on the creature's body, gaging from the odor, then tears filled his eyes when he noticed the maggots that ate at its once beautiful brown eyes. _Alex. His beautiful blue eyes are now gone—rotted away._ Though he couldn't spare the time, he sank to the ground, keening into the folds of Mycroft's robe. He then took a deep breath and tied the rabbit's legs together, with one of the condoms, attaching the wooden spoon to one end. When the rabbit's body hit the electrified fence, it lit up like a Christmas tree. The smell of burnt meat filled the air and he gagged again, but kept a tight grip on the wooden spoon.

Then the rabbit's body stilled for the last time. It fell at his feet in a charred pile, no longer an animal, but a pile of mutilated flesh and fur. He bent down, pulled one of the legs lose and threw it against the chain-link. Nothing. The fence had flatlined. Its electricity could no longer sear his skin. He slipped on Mycroft's robe, putting the scissors in one of its deep pockets, then began to scale the fence. When he reached the top, he paused then cut into one of the metal barbed wire circles. Though he knew that the scissors wouldn't cut all the way through, he hoped that he could loosen their circumference enough to slip through. He swore when the strength of the scissors gave way. They fell apart and landed with a soft thump beside the rabbit's body.

He pulled the terry belt out, wrapping it around one hand. Then he slipped through the wire, holding back a scream when it bit through the robe and ripped his flesh. _Fuck._ His body fell through the air, then hit the ground. He took a moment to get his breath back, then ran bleeding into the night.

Lust had overtaken them both. John grabbed Sherlock's waist pinning him against the ground. "Case or no case, it's time for you to be the fuck toy." He sighed when Sherlock's eyes clouded with lust—all reason gone.

"Fuck, yes, John whatever you want."

"Put the pink panties that I was just wearing on."

He palmed his groin, while he watched Sherlock comply. "Now, put on the plaid skirt, you made me wear." When Sherlock started to removed his purple shirt, he stopped him. "No, keep the shirt on. I want to tease open the buttons with my teeth. Now, hands against the wall and spread 'em."

He shivered when he looked at Sherlock's plumb ass. _It's just waiting to be eaten._ Watching him squirm was the best part. Then he dove between his legs, nibbling at the pink thong, as if were an impediment to his ultimate goal—rimming. When Sherlock began to make small noises in the back of his throat, he lost it. "Sherlock, stop with the whining or I'm going to come."

"Aaan."

"That's right. Spread your legs further apart, so I can taste your nectar." He lowered his head, pulling at the thong with his teeth, until it worked itself around Sherlock's thighs. With one swift move, he pulled them down and began to flick his tongue where the string had rested.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck."

"That's it Sherlock, hang on let me taste you. Tell me what do you want?"

"I thought you were in control. I'm out of my mind, John. Give it to me hard."

"Are you sure? I haven't gotten any smaller and I don't want to hurt you. Let me give you head."

"No."

His groin lurched when Sherlock, licked his finger, then inserted it where his tongue had been. "Jesus, Sherlock you're killing me. Go over to the bed and lie on your back." When Sherlock complied, he joined him, undoing each button on his sexy purple shirt with his teeth. "Just as promised," he whispered, while Sherlock writhed beneath him, arching his hips when he licked his nipple.

"Fuck, John, I can't….."

He watched while Sherlock's body tensed, then slumped in humiliation. "Sorry, I came too fast…"

"Ssh, it's okay," he soothed. "I've got enough to spare, don't you think?" He smiled, then moaned when Sherlock's greedy hands reached for his cock.

"In me now, John…"

"Your wish is my command, my annoying dickhead." Then he put on a condom, lubed up, and massaged Sherlock's ass cheeks until he relaxed. His head snapped back and he bit on his lower lip to maintain control, when he breached Sherlock's sphincter. "Fuck, Sherlock, you undo me every time." He then lifted Sherlock's skirt, laced their fingers together and thrust, deeper and deeper, until they were fused in a tight wad of moist flesh. _Sherlock, god, Sherlock…_

Mycroft smiled when he found the dead rabbit. "What a clever thing he is my Danny." _My Danny?_ The thought froze the smile on his face. _Danny wasn't his. He would never be his. His heart belonged to another._ _I'm going to put a bullet through the little prick's head. How dare he abuse my hospitality? Maybe I won't find him._ This thought slowed him. Then the hunter in him took over and he kicked the rabbit's body to the side. _I always get my prey—always. And I have always left the quality of mercy to others. I will catch him. I will interrogate him and I will find the cipher. I long for this to be over. Perhaps, Mrs. Hudson is right. Perhaps, I do need a vacation, on a sunny island with lots of half-naked cabana boys parading around. Stop, focus._ Then he crept along the fence and opened a gate further down, making his way to the other side of the fence to where his robe lay, streaked with Danny's blood. He held it in his hands, then let it drop to the ground, where it faced the burnt out skull of the rabbit.


	23. Chapter 23

The scent of copper filled Mycroft's nostrils. _I'm close._ Then he stopped when he almost stumbled on the figure that attempted to hide in the grass. _Danny. It's time to stop fooling around._ "I'm sorry, Danny." Mycroft watched him when he opened his green eyes, barely acknowledging the red dot of light splashed across his fore head. _I've killed a lot of people. Why can't I pull the trigger? Fuck this._ Then he grabbed him by the hair, whipping his body around so that the gun's muzzle fit snuggly below his occipital lobe. His hands began to shake. He aimed, his finger hovering around the trigger, then he stopped and started again.

"I can't do it, Danny. Did you hear me? I can't fucking do it." When Danny didn't answer, he sighed, then picked up his limp form, holding him close. _God, help me. Can it be that I've fallen for a mark?_ The rolling peals of thunder rang through the night. Their sound waves made his sternum vibrate. He grimaced when a deluge of rain began to soak them, washing Danny's blood across the slick material of his black tactical jacket. He'd seen blood spatter before, but the sight of Danny's made his stomach churn.

By the time, they reached the house, his arms ached. He deposited Danny on a near-by couch, then pulled out his phone and sent a text.

"Mycroft, just end me," Danny mumbled.

"Shut up. I'm going to do worse than end you. I'm taking you to my little brother." Then he stripped off Danny's wet clothes, returning a few moments later with a pair of sweats in his hands. "These should fit you, but first I have to see to those lacerations." Then he slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and began to tend to Danny's wounds. "You know that was quite clever about the rabbit and the spoon. It's something my brother would appreciate."

"How come you always call Sherlock, 'brother mine', or just brother?"

"What does it matter?"

"It matters, Mycroft."

He stared down into those haunting green eyes. "It's only the game that matters, Danny, you above all people should know that."

"Why me of all people? Is it because I lost Alex?"

"He let sentiment get in the way and he paid the ultimate price—death."

Danny reached over and caressed his rubber clad fingers. "There are many ways to die, Mycroft, but the worst way that I can think of is to still be alive after the soul has bled out."

He pulled off the rubber gloves, winching when the snap echoed in the sparsely furnished room. A residue of powder clung to his hands and he frowned. _I hate the way the powder feels. It sucks the moisture away from my skin, setting my teeth on edge, like fingernails on a chalk board._ Then he watched Danny dress, his facial expressions impervious to the naked body before him. "I can't get the pants on. I think I must have broken my ankle."

"Here let me help you." Then he knelt, bowing his head in a subservient position, while he pulled the pants, then the sweats around Danny's thin legs, his mouth watering when the curly hair became dense. He then sat down next to him. "There'll be a limo here soon."

"Like the limo that took Scotty away?"

Mycroft looked down at his hands. He couldn't stop moving them. "No, it will be private, not government issue."

Danny stilled them with one touch. "Okay, then what?"

"Off to see, bro…Sherlock."

John play wrestled with Sherlock, pinning him between his legs. "John, stop that's my phone. I have a message."

"Too bad. You're mine. Prepare to be boarded."

"Umm, John it looks as if delusions of grandeur are plaguing you again. There's no way you could possibly recover that quickly. I estimate that…"

He grinned, then dug his thumbs in the soft flesh to the side of Sherlock's pelvic bones. "Ooo, whose silent now?"

"Fuck, John, you know that's one of my zones. Let me get my message."

He then nipped at Sherlock's pubes. "What do you say?"

"Pleaassse," he giggled.

John looked down at him smiled, then his expression sobered. "You know I never tire of the way your face can change in an instant. One moment it's dark like…"

"Yes, yes, yes, John very poetic, now ssh I have to get my messages."

He watched Sherlock's eyes narrow. "It's Mycroft."

"Great, that's a mood killer. Your brother is a soft serve to the cock."

"Well, soft serve is on his way here and he's bringing Danny with him."

"What? Let me see? Pass me your phone." He looked at the message screen, then back at Sherlock. "Jesus, what's he thinking?"

"It's not what he's thinking about, it's about the head he's thinking with."

"Your brother and Danny, you can't be serious."

"Fine, you tell me why he hasn't ended him yet."

John shook his head. "I have no idea."

Mycroft carried Danny aboard the private jet, then deposited him in a plush seat.

"It's so cold in here. My teeth are chattering and I can't stop them."

Without a word, he grabbed a blanket from an overhead compartment and tucked him in. "It's the leather seats, they haven't heated up yet."

"Leather's so cold. I've always wondered why everyone is so hot to have it on their furniture. It's creepy, sitting on something's skin."

"You're being fanciful. The skin as you put it has been processed many times, until its nothing more than a long-lasting chair cover. Now get some sleep."

Danny nodded, then closed his eyes. Mycroft watched his chest rise and fall, then got up and poured himself a scotch, listening to the hum of the engines. He smiled when he took a drink. _Ah, scotch, it burns so good._ Then he ran his hands along the cold arms of his chair and shivered, swearing that when they heated up, he could smell hay, grains and death. _Now who's being fanciful?_


	24. Chapter 24

Mycroft carried Danny into the room. John reached them first. "Good god, what happened?"

"He sprained, possibly broke his ankle when he attempted to escape. He's also dislocated his shoulder. He's in a lot of pain."

"Why didn't you set it?" Sherlock asked.

Mycroft avoided his brother's speculative gaze. "There wasn't time and I didn't want to worsen the injury."

"Since when have you cared about whether you injure another human being?"

"Brother mine, you know as well as I that Danny is an asset."

"And after he's fulfill his purpose?" Sherlock asked him, with an edge to his voice.

"Then he shall be dealt with accordingly."

"Would you two keep it down? I need to concentrate so I can properly set Danny's shoulder." Then a popping sound filled the air, followed by a moan.

Mycroft's face turned a shade paler than usual. He made his way to Danny's side where he lay unmoving. John nudged him aside. "He's lost consciousness, which is a mercy considering the pain he must have endured. His ankle doesn't appear to be broken, but it is a bad sprain. I need to get him some pain meds."

Sherlock stepped forward, fixating on him with a mocking smile. "I'm on it. Why Mycroft, you look pale, perhaps you should side down."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

"You two stop now. Danny needs rest and quiet. I'll take him to our bed."

"Umm, John, perhaps that's not such a good idea, considering the state we left it in."

John's faced colored. "Okay, right then. We'll leave him on the couch."

Another moan from Danny silenced them. "Mycroft?"

Mycroft knelt by the side of the couch. "What is it?"

Danny took his hand. "The cipher, it's in…it's in…."

"Sssh, don't talk."

"A chip with the cipher, has been implanted in my neck between C2 and C3." Then his eyes fluttered shut again.

"Jesus," John whispered.

Mycroft felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. _Danny, what have you done?_

A few moments later Sherlock slipped back into the room, smirking at them while he handed John a bottle of pills. "Will these do?"

John snatched the bottle out his hands and read the name on it. "John Silver?"

Sherlock smirked again. "Well, it seemed too obvious to put Long John Silver, so I improvised. But rest assured dearest John, you're the one who inspired me, 'Long John.'"

"So, you got this from a druggist? How did you get a script? You couldn't have stolen my prescription pads because I don't use them anymore. I electronically submit everything."

"Oh, John, you're adorable when you think you're clever. I broke into your account ages ago."

"So, you betrayed my trust to write yourself prescriptions for pain killers?"

"Only in emergency situations such as this."

"Sherlock, I could lose my license."

"Oh, now who's the drama queen?"

Mycroft listened to their bickering, then stood up. "Stop, now. I've no interest in your petty squabbling. Sherlock, you look a wreck and what's wrong with your lips?" He took a step closer. "Are you wearing lipstick?"

"Yes, kind of you to notice. I think it's called Lascivious Lilac. It shows up beautifully on skin. Would you like to see the trail I left on John's chest?"

"No, absolutely not."

"Oh, come on, tell me you wouldn't love to make a Holmes sandwich out of Doctor Watson? Oh god, the two of us bringing him to ecstasy, tasting him, filling him. John, what say you?"

"Sherlock, did you take one of those pills? Because there's no excuse for your behavior and I don't appreciate being talked about like I'm just a play thing."

"Fine, but I wish I would have taken a pill or five. You two are no fun, quite boring in fact."

"I'm going outside. When I get back, I expect you to have calmed down." He then left, slamming the door behind him. When he reached the hallway, he took a breath, attempting to dispel the images of he and Sherlock pleasuring the good Doctor. _What the hell is wrong with me? This is worse the puberty. That's what I get for making love to Danny. My sex drive has been activated. Wait, hang on, Mycroft, make love? Is that what you think happened between the two of you? Well, it isn't. You just fucked, nothing more._

Sherlock watched his brother leave with a thoughtful look on his face. _Could Mycroft be in love? No, never. Sentiment is a chemical defect found on the losing side._ Then he looked over at John, while he brought Danny something to eat. His soft voice floated over to him, and he fought a surge of jealously when John's protective side kicked in. _He is everything to me. He is my chemical defect and if what I have with him is losing, I consider myself conquered._

He then went and stood by John's side. "I'm going to clean up in the bedroom, so that Danny can rest in there."

John looked at him with an incredulous stare. "You clean up? You've got to be kidding."

He stuck his lower lip out, giving John his pouty look. "I've cleaned up before, haven't I?"

John shook his head. "Nope."

"Well, I'm turning over a new leaf."

"Bullshit, you just want to smell our drying jiz. He rolls in the stuff like a dog."

Danny laughed, then winced. "Ow, did you say you had pain pills?"

"Coming right up," John answered.

 _Bastard, he knows that every time he eludes to come, I am undone. It would serve them both right, if I shot a load right here and now._ He smiled, then closed his eyes, letting the images he conjured up become memories in his mind palace. _I'll save these little tidbits for later in the shower or the bath. Ahh, it's good to have a mind palace. Losing side my ass, John is the best thing that's ever happened to me. I should tell him. I should, but what would I do if he laughed. He wouldn't laugh, would he?_


	25. Chapter 25

"Be careful," Mycroft snapped, when a medical technician ran a scanner over Danny's neck.

"Mr. Holmes, do you want a read out of the chip or not?"

"Yes."

"Mr. Holmes, you do realize that the information from the chip will show up on the scanner whether or not the patient is alive, don't you?"

"Yes, now get on with it and be gentle. He's been through a lot."

Danny looked over at him and smiled. _What do I do when he smiles at me? His green eyes bore into my soul._ A fleeting smile twitched at the corner of his lips, then he turned away, preferring to look at the medical equipment— _cold and sterile like me._

A few moments later, and he held the deadly formula in his hands, downloaded on a thumb drive. Danny turned his tear-filled eyes towards him. "What will you do with it?"

He fingered the drive, then clasped it in a tight grip. "I'm going to destroy it."

"What, but I thought we were going after the people who killed Alex and Scotty. As long as I'm alive I'll never be free and neither will you. They will come after you, Sherlock, John, and everyone you've ever met."

He smiled when a familiar emotion surged through his veins—fury. _Sentiment is difficult and fraught with danger, but anger, bitterness and frustration are just my game—to play for blood. I am the hunter and I always get my prey._ After the technician left the room he turned towards Danny, where he reclined on an examination table, the wax paper crinkling when he moved. "Danny, Sherlock and John will be here in a few moments. This is how things are going to play out. I will destroy the drive, under his watchful eye, allowing him to first verify its contents. He mustn't be allowed to view all the data, or he will memorize it. Then you will go to Switzerland where a specialist will remove the chip, you so foolishly had implanted in your neck. After that your death will be faked, Sherlock can help with that. You will be given a new identity and a new place to live and in future be more careful whom you take home."

Danny hopped off the table and came towards him. "Do I get a say about any of this?"

"No," he answered, looking at the ass print Danny had left on the exam table paper.

"What gives you the right to make decisions for me?"

 _I could comfort him, take him in my arms, tell him how much he's meant to me, tell how much I'm going to miss him. God, I will miss him, but there's no reason why he should miss me. It's better he hates me. Why should he feel another loss?_ "You are no longer an asset, Danny and will do as I say. I could have the surgeon scramble just enough of your brain to make you a vegetable for life, or I could have all your so-called friends eradicated. Better yet, how about I have your parents snuffed out? Oh, never mind. They won't feel your loss, will they Danny?"

He watched with a detached air, while tears streamed down Danny's face. "Fuck you, Mycroft, you're a monster. You're just like them."

"Oh, making more friends, are we?" Sherlock asked when he breezed through the door.

"Well, brother mine, timely entrance as usual. Please come over here just long enough to verify the contents of this thumb drive."

Sherlock grabbed the drive from him, his eyes shining with lust—the lust for an unsolved mystery—knowledge at all cost. _To know and want to be known, that is our curse brother mine._ He watched while Sherlock, inserted the drive into a nearby laptop, and began to read. Just when he sensed Sherlock's memorization skills begin to kick in, he walked over and slammed the laptop shut. "Playtime's over, brother mine."

A noise to his left made him snap to attention. "Grab him he shouted to two guards that stood by the door." Danny struggled in their grasp, while John protested their rough treatment of him. "Sedate him."

Danny's eyes grew wide, when they held him down. "Don't, stop."

"What are you doing to him?" John shouted, while he moved to intervene.

Danny screamed, when a long needle pierced his taut neck muscles. He walked over and took Danny's swaying form in his arms. Danny looked up at him, and slurred, "I hate you, you bast…ard." Then Danny's eyes fluttered shut. The bright sterile light in the room hurt his eyes and he wanted to collapse on the floor, but he didn't. _Hold steadfast, that's what you always do._ His next words, tore at his heart, an organ he could swear had disappeared into a lump of tissue years ago. "Take him to the plane and be quick about it."

He massaged his neck, then stood with his face towards the wall. When he turned around Sherlock and John were staring at him. "What are you two looking at?!" Then he stomped on the thumb drive until it lay shattered at his feet. The destruction of the laptop came next. He threw it against the wall, gathering up the pieces and injecting the hard drive with a chemical that would destroy its memory. _I wonder if it would do the same for me?_

Sherlock watched Mycroft's every move, the way his hands shook, when he picked up the pieces of the laptop, and the slight stoop to his shoulders when he faced them again. "Well, brother mine it's back to Baker Street for you and John."

"We're not going home until we are sure Danny is safe." John said, stepping forward.

He smiled. _My brave, sweet, loyal doctor._ "Yes, Mycroft, how do we know that you aren't going to have him dropped over the ocean somewhere? Besides I thought you needed my help in faking his death?"

He watched, while Mycroft moved a hand over his face. "Whatever, if you want to come fine. But I don't need your help with faking his death. He is going to die during surgery."

"You mean his death is going to faked during surgery?" John asked in a firm tone.

 _There goes my doctor, off to the rescue again. He is so brave, loyal and…_

"Sherlock?"

"What?"

"Were you even listening to me?"

"Of course, Mycroft."

"Oh, forget it, you've been staring at John with that, that look on your face. You've allowed him to degenerate your thought processes."

He smiled at John, past worries forgotten. "Uh huh, mmm so sweet," he whispered in John's ear. Without breaking eye contact with him, he said, "Mycroft, make sure you acquire a Lear jet, the model with the shower and private bedroom."


	26. Chapter 26

Mycroft scowled when he heard thumping sounds coming from the bathroom. Danny looked over at him. "What's that noise?"

He sighed. "My brother, most likely getting his brains buggered out."

Danny laughed. "You must be joking, Sherlock and John on a plane. I would expect that John had more restraint."

He looked down at the ground, avoiding Danny's intense gaze. "The good Doctor Watson has no restraint when it comes to my little brother."

The noise intensified. "Oh, for god's sake." Then he got up and knocked on the door. "Stop this instant, I just had the plane detailed. Sherlock, was that breaking glass I heard? My Waterford crystal decanter better be intact. SHERLOCK, ANSWER ME NOW." The Queen of the Night Aria from Mozart's opera The Magic Flute echoed back at him, accompanied by muted laughter. He knocked again, just as the plane shifted. The door flew open and Sherlock and John, spilled out into the hallway, naked from the waist down.

"Fuck," John swore, while Sherlock lie there laughing.

"For god's sake, get up," he hissed.

"Well, alright, brother mine but be prepared to be shocked. John is huge. The plane might shift again, throwing us completely off course."

Danny threw Mycroft his own blanket and pillow. "Here, give them these."

John grabbed the blanket, while Sherlock ignored the offer of the pillow. "No, thanks." Then he watched while Sherlock pranced bare assed towards the bedroom.

"Oh, for god's sake, Sherlock."

Sherlock looked back at him, while John attempted to hand over the pillow once more. "Mycroft, you have only yourself to blame. I asked nicely if John and I could have the bedroom and you said 'no', so this is all your fault."

"Get your clothes on, now and if my crystal decanter is broken, it's coming out of your trust fund annuity."

"Fine, whatever, John and I will be in the bedroom. Don't bother knocking. John needs to finish what he started. Come on Big Daddy."

John's face flushed, then he shrugged. "Yes, Sherlock."

He looked back to where Danny sat laughing. "I'm sorry, Mycroft, but it really is kind of funny and at least I'm not mad at you anymore."

"You're not mad at me anymore?"

"No, well yes a little. When is it going to happen, Mycroft?"

"When is what going to happen?"

"Come on, the kiddies are in bed, you can tell me. Am I going to die of heart failure on the table, or succumb to some kind of air-borne virus, get pricked in the leg by a poisoned umbrella tip or what?"

He sighed, attempting to keep his arousal at bay when the scent of sex filled his nostrils. "Danny, how many times do I have to tell you that I'm not going to have you killed?" Then he walked over to the bar and poured himself a large glass of scotch, enjoying the burn when it slid down his throat.

"You drink too much."

"And you ask too many stupid questions."

"Is that supposed to hurt me?"

He looked into Danny's green eyes, with his own blue red rimmed ones. "Is your constant lack of mistrust supposed to hurt me?"

"Does it?"

 _Yes._ He drank another gulp of scotch. "We'll be landing in a couple of hours, you'd better get some rest."

Danny rested in a hospital bed, while John made sure the drugs administrated were the appropriate ones. "This looks good. Danny, you should be flying high in a minute. I'll be observing and if I see anything out of place, I will come charging in there. Got it?"

He looked up at John. "Sure, John, thanks." Sherlock gave him an awkward nod, then they left. Mycroft walked over to his side and looked up at the IV line. "You should be going to sleep, now."

His eyes fluttered shut, his body relaxed and then a voice whispered in his ear. "Danny, I love you." _Alex, is that you, or am I dreaming?_

When he opened his eyes, John looked back at him. "Welcome back, Danny, the surgery went well."

"You mean that thing is out of me?"

John nodded. "Yep."

Then Mycroft stepped forward. "Danny, we have things to discuss. You're going to be getting a new identity and an estate on the Cayman Islands."

Sherlock edged closer to them. "Mycroft, that wouldn't be your private estate, would it?"

Mycroft tensed. "Does it matter?"

He sat up staring at the two brothers, facing off. "Mycroft, I don't want to take your estate."

"The estate has become a bother, besides I'm taking Scotty's old house, so think of it as a house swap, if that helps."

He nodded. "Okay, we'll talk about it later. I feel so sleepy."

John checked his vitals and then nodded. "You have enough morphine to knock you out awhile. Sherlock, quit drooling. Mycroft, are you coming?"

Mycroft looked back at them. "I'll be there in a minute. You two go on ahead of me."

The door swung shut. "What is it, Mycroft?"

Mycroft looked at him, allowing his eyes to travel the length the bed. His mouth opened, then shut again. "Danny, I…. oh, never mind we can discuss it later."

"Are you sure?" he slurred.

"Yes, it can wait."

"Mycroft?"

"Yes, Danny?"

"Did you say anything when I was going under?"

Mycroft's eyes glazed over like a dead fish. "No, why?"

"Nothing, I thought I heard something just before I went under."

Mycroft smiled, an ingratiating smile. "It must have been the anesthesia."

He watched Mycroft's lids grow heavy, hiding his expression, but not before he observed a flicker of sadness? _Mycroft, sad, never, England would fall._


	27. Chapter 27

Sherlock looked over at Mycroft, knowing how much it cost his brother to look bored. "Mycroft, when are you going to tell him?"

"Tell him what?" Mycroft snapped.

"Tell that Alex is still alive."

"Sherlock, keep your voice down. There's no sense in getting his hopes up when we both know that Alex is dead."

He shook his head, then looked into his brother's light blue eyes. "It hurts, doesn't it?"

"Mind your own business, brother mine."

He swallowed. _This loss will break his heart. He's made a tactical error. He's fallen in love with Danny._ "Mycroft?"

Mycroft shifted away from him. "Leave me alone, Sherlock."

Danny came into the room, followed by John. _John, what would I do if I had to let you go? But then we both love each other. You are my true love and I am yours. Danny's heart belongs to another. Poor Mycroft._

"Sherlock, have you listened to a word I've said?" John asked, then frowned. "Sherlock, are you okay?"

"I'm fine."

Mycroft clapped his hands. "It's time for this little charade to end. Danny, there's a car waiting outside. A man will hand you your new ID's, then you will be taken to your home, where I trust you will be more careful in whom you make friends with. That goes for you as well John and brother mine."

Danny looked down then shuffled over and hugged John, then he stopped before Mycroft. "Mycroft, I think I'll miss you the most."

"Stop joking," Mycroft snapped.

Danny smiled.

 _A smile that would make any man's heart stop._

"I'm not joking, Mycroft…I'll miss you. Maybe under different circumstances…"

Mycroft stared back at Danny, lowering his nose, peering at Danny as if he were an insect. "Quit dawdling and get in the fucking car."

Danny smiled, then gathered Mycroft in his arms and kissed him. "Goodbye, Mycroft and thank you for everything. Maybe you could stop by sometime."

Mycroft disengaged himself from Danny's embrace. _I'm the only one, who noticed the tremor in his left hand, his grief palatable to me and only me._ _Brother mine, we are broken, only to be made whole by the ones who love us. Embrace the pain and perhaps in time you will find someone like John._ He then, walked over to Mycroft's side and whispered into his ear. "Mycroft, you can stop him. He cares for you, I can tell."

"Sherlock, what kind of a monster would I be to separate him from his destiny?"

"You aren't going to tell him you care?"

Mycroft frowned, then took out a cigarette and lighter, cradling the flame as if it were a child, then the lid snapped shut and took a drag. "No."

"Let me have one"

Mycroft pulled a cigarette out, then John stopped him. "Oh, no you don't. I want Sherlock around for a long time to come."

Mycroft smiled, then shrugged. "You may come to regret your decision, Doctor."

John rolled his eyes. "Come here you—my detective."

"Yes, Doctor, your wish is my command." Then he looked over at Mycroft. Mycroft stood still, his arm bringing the cigarette to his lips for another drag.

Danny settled back in the seat, holding his new identity papers. _It's over. Now, what?_ The car drove up in front of a beautiful Mediterranean style mansion. _Jesus, it's fucking huge._ After they stopped, he got out of the car and stretched his legs. A letter fluttered from his pocket. Frowning, he opened it. It read: **_Be good to each other. M_**

 _What the hell is he talking about? What's this another game of Mycroft's?_

"Danny, oops, I mean Daryl? That's your new name, right?"

He felt the blood drain from his face, then he swayed and fell to the ground. _Oh, Jesus, it can't be—Alex?_ When he opened his eyes, he gasped. "Alex?"

"Uh, no, it's Fausto, that bastard Mycroft has a terrible sense of humor, but then I looked up the meaning. It means lucky."

He looked up at Fausto—Alex and asked, "What's my name mean?"

Fausto held him close. "It means beloved."

"So, all the time he knew you were alive, but how? I saw your dead body."

"My death had to be faked so that Mycroft could find out who was behind my supposed murder and that of the others. Apparently, he's good at making people look dead."

He nodded. "He helped Sherlock in a similar manner. What about Scotty?"

Fausto looked down. "I'm sorry, he's dead."

"I can't believe you're here. Oh, god, Alex, bless the angel that performed this miracle."

Fausto chuckled. "An angel named Mycroft, go figure."

Sherlock rested in John's arms, complaining about the simplicities of the Rubix cube he played with. "How could anyone have been perplexed by this thing? The solution is simplistic—childish."

Mycroft watched them, then listened to their bickering. _Soon they would make up and go up to the bedroom. I hope Danny is well—happy._ He then let his thoughts wander and when he glanced up, Sherlock and John had indeed retired. He picked up the cube, fingering it until the cold squares heated under his touch.

Mrs. Hudson came into the room. "Well, you look done in. Would you like a cuppa?"

He smiled, then put the cube down. "That would be lovely."

"Sherlock and John have gone off then?"

"Yes, somewhere, making up, I imagine."

"Oh, I'm glad I don't have those up's and down's anymore. I'm glad to have my privacy. I'm sure you feel the same way, right Mycroft?"

He stared into the depths of the flames that flickered in the hearth, then put down the cube. "Yes, of course. I'm blessed. I don't have sentimental defects. I'm always on the winning side."


End file.
